


Fratres in Sanguine: A Ross & Claude Poldark AU

by Lucretiassister



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Poldark AU, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: What if Ross Poldark's younger brother, Claude, hadn't died in childhood so when Ross returns home from war, someone is there to greet him?  And what if, as Demelza grows into the life of Nampara, while Ross isn't quite paying attention, someone else is?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are not mine but belong to Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield.

Chapter 1

The errand boy, a mere lad of fifteen, slid off his horse and tied it to the clump of trees just off the gravel path. He took a few quick paces towards a tall servant standing stone faced by the main door, then stopped. A servant himself at one of the more important homes in the county, the boy felt awed nonetheless by this servant’s fine attire-- velvet breeches, powdered wig-- and for a moment, looked down in embarrassment at his own simple garb. Then he remembered the urgency of his errand and swallowed hard before speaking.

“I come from Trenwith. I’ve a letter for Mister Poldark. He be here still?” he asked.

“I shall take it,” the servant said holding out his hand.

“Nay, sir. I was told by my master that I must deliver it personally to Mister Poldark himself. Tis urgent.” He held the sealed letter close to his chest as though he might have to guard it from the servant’s grasp.

“Very well,” the servant said with a distinct sneer and showed him through the door. The boy was surprised he hadn’t been sent round to the rear entrance but instead was led into a grand hallway where he was asked to wait. Further down the corridor the first servant conferred with another similarly clad man but the boy felt sure that his master commanded enough respect that even in a stately house such as this, he would have no trouble completing his mission.

“Mister Poldark is in the gaming room,” the second servant announced. “Please follow me.”

The host of the party, George Warleggan, was at the entrance to the grand room when the boy and the servant appeared. Warleggan was apparently enjoying the sport of local gentlemen ruining each other at his gaming tables while he acted as spectator. Warleggan was also enjoying being the most fashionably dressed man in the room. He had ordered his new blue velvet coat from London, its cut-away front the height of fashion, or so he had been told. He had spent considerable time that day, with his man servant’s help, dressing his sleek hair, though he thought next time he hosted an event he might don a wig. To the boy, Warleggan looked almost indistinguishable from his overdressed house servants in their velvet coats and finery. But Warleggan’s attention to his grooming was wasted on the others present who seemed to take no notice. The action in the room had grown heated and the other gentlemen at the tables were already in various stages of disrobing--neckcloths loosened, coats removed, waistcoats unbuttoned. 

“Let him wait a moment. Mister Poldark has just placed a stake and it remains to be seen if he will come out the winner,” Warleggan said more to himself than to his own servant. He nodded across the room where Poldark sat at one of the tables looking confidently at the cards he held in his hand. 

Poldark had a quiet poise that made him appear older than his years, when in fact he was one of the youngest in the room by far. He was a local gentleman, master of the Nampara estate and nephew to Charles Poldark, an established man of influence and reputation. He was also son to the late Joshua Poldark, who had been less reputable than his brother Charles and notorious in the county for his libertine ways. Another Poldark, a cousin Francis, with whom Warleggan had attended school and whom he often saw socially, was not present today, sending his last minute regrets. Francis was not as steady a gambler as his cousin and his losses of late were stacking up, much to his father Charles’s chagrin. Warleggan wondered if it was cowardice or an empty purse that kept Francis away that afternoon.

But at the moment, to the others in the room with whom he was playing, this attractive young man was the only Poldark of consequence. His back was held straight and his head high while his table mates looked decidedly slumped and beaten down. He took notice of the despair written on their frames, drew another card from the pack, and smiled slyly. Earlier a servant had passed by with the full decanter but Poldark held his near-empty brandy glass close to him; he’d take no more just yet. Let his opponents fall under the spell of liquor. If he were to stay sober perhaps he might best them again. Now he wasted no more time toying with his foes and laid his cards on the table. 

“Once again the Poldark luck has prevailed,” said John Trenowden, an older gentleman sitting to his left. While Trenowden could not disguise his disappointment at having lost more guineas than he’d hoped, he could not hide his admiration for Poldark’s undeniable talents at cards. 

“Good day, gentlemen,” Poldark said and pushed himself back from the table. “I believe I shall retire but I do thank you for your sportsmanship.” He reached up to push his long curls out of his face and absentmindedly tapped his breast pocket, pleased at the sound made by the crinkling bills tucked inside. His winnings for the day were already more than double what he had started with, so he felt content.

“Oh, you are in haste, Poldark,” Warleggan said. “Surely these friends deserve a chance to redeem themselves? Please play another round, enjoy more refreshment. This party has, after all, only just begun.”

“And I thank you for your hospitality, George. Now I must be off…” He would not be persuaded. He had seen too many good men lured into card games seemingly for entertainment only to be ruined over the course of a few hours. As a result Poldark had cultivated a careful self discipline that he heeded when supposed friends beckoned him to gamble more than he’d planned.

His uncle’s servant, still standing at the doorway, shifted nervously and caught his eye. Poldark approached the boy who seemed hesitant to move further into the grandeur of the Warleggan room.

“Yes, Sir, Mister Poldark,” the finely dressed Warleggan servant announced. “A letter has arrived for you just now from Trenwith.” 

“From my Uncle Charles? Sent here? This must be urgent,” Poldark replied and took the letter with a gentle nod to the boy. He broke its seal and read its contents quickly.

“Dear God!” he exclaimed. “This cannot be.” He read the note again-- it was quite brief--feeling the shock move through his body and settle into his now wobbly legs. He would have considered taking a brandy to steady his nerves but he truly had no time to waste.

“My horse! At once!” he called to the servant. He said no further good byes to any of the gentlemen present nor addressed his host again as he quit the room in long strides. The boy followed behind taking two steps for each one of Poldark’s. 

Once outside Poldark paced nervously while waiting for the groom to return with his saddled horse.

“Sir,” the boy said tentatively. “Shall I ride back with ‘ee?”

“No, please go now to Trenwith and tell my Uncle Charles I have received his word. I shall ride at once for Nampara.”

“Yes, Mister Claude,” the boy said leaving the unsettled young man alone in the gravel courtyard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters are not mine; they belong to Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield.

Chapter 2

“Tis Mister Ross?” Prudie Paynter managed to gasp after catching her breath. “We thought thee was dead!” 

Prudie and her husband Jud, the two live-in servants at Nampara stared in shock and disbelief at the dark figure, still dressed in his long black cloak and red soldier’s uniform, standing now before them. She clutched her chest, still thinking she was being visited by a ghost.

“No doubt a rumour you may have started,” was the soldier‘s reply. He was Captain Ross Poldark, eldest son of the late Joshua Poldark, just returned home from war. Ross had scarce been back in Cornwall a few hours but already it was proving to be a very unhappy homecoming. 

He was aggrieved to learn that his father had died six months before yet no word of it had reached him in America. Also devastating was the news that Elizabeth Chenowyth, his beloved for whom he had pined all the years he was away, was now engaged to his own cousin Francis. Ross looked around the house and tried to make sense of its current ill-kept state. Had these two servants really been left alone to tend to his family’s home without a master? He fought hard to contain the rage that burned inside him. 

“Get up and tell me… Where is my brother?” Ross roared. The surprise Jud and Prudie had felt at Ross’s return promptly shifted to fear. Though it had been years since they were on the receiving end, they were familiar with Ross’s temper.

“Mister Claude? He be away in town, sir, in Truro. He is most days, see. He don’t have much notion for workin’ the land here or for maintainin’ the tenants but well...sir... he seeks company with other gentlefolk, gamin’ and huntin’,” Jud sputtered, looking into his empty cup.

“An’ when he do be here, sir, he sits starin’ into the fire, mournin’ for thee!” Prudie added while scuttling across the room, further away from Ross. She hoped that his mood might soften somewhat upon hearing of his brother’s lonely distress. 

“For me? And not my father?” Ross asked incredulously. At that, Prudie thought the young captain a fool to doubt he’d be grieved by his own flesh and blood; she struggled to disguise her impatience.

“Oh, he mourned Old Cap’n Joshua’s partin’ too but now he cries out that if his own brother Ross were here he’d be free to be gettin’ about his education, he could go back to Cambridge and not shoulder the burden of we. He’ll be that glad to see you, Mister Ross!” Jud added.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that Jud,” Ross began. “To go overnight from sole heir, back to second son without a sovereign to his name…” 

“Oh no, sir. Mister Claude has means, sir. He has business all over the county and makes a tidy livin’ to keep himself fligged up and us in vittles,” Prudie said. Ross detected a hint of pride in her voice as she described her new master. 

It was too much to take in. Ross had expected to come home to a changed Cornwall but somehow thought Nampara would stay the same. Or rather he hadn’t thought much about Nampara and its inhabitants at all. Now his younger brother, who was but a school boy when Ross went to war, was suddenly a grown man with business interests? A respected man in the county? But it wasn’t sudden. Three years had gone by and in that time, Claude alone had cared for their dying father and tended to the family estate. No doubt these burdens would have aged him. 

Ross looked about the room again and this time took in more of the disrepair and decay that had settled into the old stone home. Inspiring industry in the servants did not seem to be a skill Claude had mastered.

“Good god, woman, when did you last attend to cleaning this house, starting with your own clothes? I believe that apron hasn’t been washed since I left for America,” Ross snapped.

“No need fer that, sir,” interjected Jud, registering his offense at Ross’s insult. “Like I says, Cap’n Ross. Mister Claude be away most days and what are we to do? Without a master to guide us?”

“I’ll guide you with the side of my foot,” Ross said angrily then turned to leave the room. He walked into the gloomy yard and was not surprised to see that even in the daylight, the grounds looked just as desolate and crumbling as they had in the dark of night when he had first arrived home.

Just what had he returned to? He could not bare to think of Elizabeth now... would he ever be able to fully contemplate that greatest of disappointments? And then there were matters inside these stone walls here at home. Not only was the estate in ruins and his father dead, but he must now wrest this sorry inheritance from his younger brother who had finally earned some recognition of his own accord as the surviving Nampara Poldark.

_Claude, forgive me_ , he said to himself. _My brother, you will be yet one more soul who wishes I had never returned._

***

“Ross?! Where is my brother? Good god, where is he?!” Claude called out to Jud and Prudie, who were both shuffling about the muddy yard trying to look busy. He slid off his horse and instead of leading her to the stalls, left her standing for Jud to attend to. He strode through the yard towards the house in great haste. 

He entered the house and he saw his brother’s tall silhouette in the parlor. Claude groaned with joy, incredulity, and relief in equal measure as his brother turned to face him. Ross was dressed in an old dark coat, a clean but yellowed shirt and grey breeches, all of which he had found in a trunk in the library where the clothing of the other deceased family members was stored. When Claude had last seen him, Ross was dressed in his smart army uniform and had cut an impressive figure. Now Ross was broken, dark, forlorn. The angry scar that ran the length of Ross’s face reminded Claude of the dangers his brother had narrowly escaped. But yet here he was at home; he had truly returned!

“Ross! Good god, man! It is you! Oh, Ross!” He was embracing him before Ross had had a chance to speak. Tears pooled in Claude’s light brown eyes. Claude Poldark, a man now recognised throughout the county as a respectable gentleman in his own right, despite the reputations of his libertine father and his law-dodging brother, was here in his own home reduced to a weeping young lad at the sight of his older brother alive. He was suddenly eleven again, desperate for his brother’s attention and approval.

“Claude! I wasn't sure I’d ever see you again, dear boy!” Ross said in return, clutching his brother to him. In that moment it finally felt good for Ross to be back. The barren coldness of Nampara suddenly seemed warmer in the presence of this familiar figure. 

The resemblance between the two brothers was unmistakable. They both stood tall and had similar shiny curls worn long to frame their strong, noble faces. Ross was just a little taller than his brother and his hair and eyes darker as well. Ross seemed to favor their mother’s looks while Claude more resembled the Trenwith Poldarks in his lighter coloring. But even with his rugged swagger and the jagged scar that now ran the length of his face, Ross was somehow the more handsome brother. Claude reconciled himself to this long ago and knew he had other qualities that his brother lacked.

Claude Poldark was certainly an attractive young man himself. His skin was flawless and smooth, the merest shadow of a beard addressed with a razor straight away even under the roughest conditions. His nose was strong and straight, in perfect proportion to his other features. His lips were full, his smile was warm and genuine, never perfunctory or merely polite. On this day, even after his fevered ride from Cardew, he was decidedly better groomed than Ross, and over the past few years had certainly cultivated finer manners. 

Ross saw how well Claude looked, how grown and assured his younger brother had become, and he recognised that he in contrast was far from his best.

“I see Prudie and Jud have made you welcome? I must confess, ordering the household has not been my greatest priority and for that I am repentant. But now, you are here! Surely, you can make things right at Nampara,” Claude exclaimed.

This was not what Ross had expected. Claude seemed to be handing over the castle keys without any hesitation. It didn't seem right to Ross that he, as eldest son, should so suddenly reappear and instantly strip his brother of his inheritance.

“But Claude, Nampara has been yours…” he stammered, looking down at his boots.

“Nay, dearest Ross! It has been my burden these last six month since my father died. I quit my studies and came home right before he left this earth and have not yet been able to return, you see. But I’ve no sense of how to manage such an estate, in its current condition or even in its better days. We all know my interests have always laid elsewhere. Oh Ross! To think! I went to bed last night a sorry man, weighted down with my duties here, a millstone around my neck, feeling alone in the world. And then this very day I should receive a letter telling me my dear brother had returned, alive and well, and here he is, to relieve me of such a burden! You are...well? I hadn’t thought to ask of you, listen to me, I’m so overcome with joy.” All this he said without scarcely taking a breath. Now he paused to take in his brother again.

“Yes I am well, do not let this limp and this scratch persuade you otherwise. I’m lucky to be alive for I saw many far stronger fall on the battlefields of Virginia,” Ross said.

“I am forever grateful that I was sent to school instead of given a commission. Do sit. Let us drink!”

Claude opened a cupboard on the wall and revealed a locked inner panel. He inserted a small key he kept in his waistcoat pocket and retrieved a gleaming bottle of brandy.

“This, Ross, I keep locked away from... well, from others. The bottle I keep there,” he nodded towards another ornately carved cabinet across the room, “is of lesser stock and actually is watered down. When Jud takes a tipple from that bottle he is only cheating himself,” he said with a resounding laugh.

So Claude had found a way managing the household on his own terms. He was always far more patient than Ross or their late father and had been resourceful in other ways. 

“So here, dear Ross! A drink to the Poldark brothers of Nampara! May they never be parted again!” Claude proposed.

Ross drank and was immediately impressed with the quality of the brandy his brother had served.

“Jud tells me you have done well for yourself, in business endeavours.”

“Well, this and that really. I have interests in some small ventures. Investments originally made from table winnings, if you must know, and I eek out my survival on the dividends. Although they have grown in these last months, more than I had imagined. I was going to use some to do the repairs here and on our tenants’ cottages at Mellin but had not yet…” Once again a sense of guilt and disappointment had crept into Claude’s voice. 

Ross wondered just what Claude thought he needed to live up to? It wasn’t as though their father Joshua Poldark had ever fully satisfied his duties in the neighborhood. And one thing Ross was sure of was that Claude, with his steady ways, had left the Nampara Poldark family name scandal free these last six months.

“You like this?” Claude said holding up his own glass of brandy. “From France but please do not go mentioning that too far and wide. I have my...sources.”

“I stopped at Trenwith before I came here last night,” Ross interrupted. He wanted to get this unsavory bit of news out of the way.

“Oh yes, well then you’ve heard of the… engagement,” Claude looked into his glass avoiding Ross’s dark tormented eyes. 

“They were celebrating the very event as I came upon them. Needless to say I was not a welcome spector,” Ross explained. “And you, brother, why weren’t there? Were you not invited?” 

Claude said nothing. He didn’t tell him that he had declined the invitation to the engagement party, that out of loyalty to the memory of his brother and the attachment Ross had once felt to Elizabeth, he couldn’t bear to share in such a celebration. He had instead spent last evening in Truro with a woman named Margaret, a woman of questionable reputation but undeniable charm. And this day he had been at a party at George Warleggan’s house, where he had won a tidy sum at cards.

“I am sorry Ross…” Claude began. 

“Why? I had no claims on the girl. And from what I saw last evening, if she is content with what Francis has to offer, then she wasn’t who I thought she was in the first place. And truly, what could I offer anyone now? “

“Then you’ll provide no obstacle? To their happiness?”

“I’ll not come between them, Claude. I wish my cousin well.” He became overwhelmed with a need to change the subject. Anything would be more pleasant to discuss than his feelings towards his love--his former love--marrying his cousin. “Tell me, did my father suffer much in the end?”

“Yes, Ross, I’m grieved to say it was a sorry end for our father. He was in much pain and in his final days seemed to get no rest. He called out in troubled dreams for you and mother. He seemed to have a great need for our late mother to forgive him of his errant ways.”

“And she no doubt would…” Ross said softly.

“Being the saint that I’m assured Grace Poldark was, yes, she would. Although my memories of her have long ago faded. Hopefully they are in the same place now, joined again.”

“He called for me? I’m only sorry I could not return sooner but what solace could I have provided him…”

The shadow of death and loss had crept into the dank room and was suddenly more than Claude could bear. No, this was a day to celebrate! To shake free of what others expected of him and to once again be released to pursue his own path in the world, whether that world be Cornwall or somewhere beyond. He breathed deeply and found that his chest moved with greater ease.

“Come Ross!” Claude said, joyously clapping his brother on the arm again. “Tomorrow, we’ll ride to Truro together to see Pascoe. To get the documents and this wretched business in order, yes? Let us drink to your own health. To Captain Ross Poldark, Master of Nampara!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Good god, Brother, what is this I did hear? In my brief absence you’ve taken on a child servant and then single handedly fought a pack of Illuggan miners in our house as a consequence? Heavens, your face!” Claude said as he burst into the parlor, staring with worry at Ross’s bloodied face. Claude had been from home for almost a week and was surprised to learn of the events that had occurred in his absence. Life at Nampara was already more eventful since Ross had become master.

“Claude, never mind this eye or these bruises,” Ross winced as he touched his ribs lightly. “You should have seen them as they left,” he laughed. 

Well, there was something. Claude hadn't seen his brother laugh since he’d returned to Cornwall. Perhaps a fight was what just he needed to release his bad humors. 

“No, it is true. I took the child, who had been clearly mistreated at home, to help Prudie as a kitchen maid,“ Ross explained, pouring himself another brandy.

“Ross, I was told the child was a boy but now I hear it is...”

“Yes, a young girl, which is what no doubt caused such a fuss with her kin from Illuggan, though I imagine they relished a good brawl regardless of the cause,” Ross said.

“Could you not have come to terms with her father before you brought her home?” Claude asked reasonably.

“The marks on the girl’s back suggested he was not one to be moved by rational negotiations,” Ross answered dryly. ”And while my methods were ill-thought out, I confess, in the end it will work well for Nampara. She is called Demelza and is settling in as we speak.” Ross looked at his brother who was still puzzled by just what had transpired and how it might affect the family as a whole.

“Oh, don't look so aghast, Claude. She needed help and we needed help. It’s quite simple and so now we can all proceed with our business.”

“It is your household, Ross, and you engage servants as you see fit,” Claude answered then chuckled as poured himself a glass. “But by God, it is a good tale! Did you really fight three men alone?”

“It would appear so. And all the time hoping my brother might return from town a few hours earlier than planned to assist me,” Ross said, ribbing Claude about his poorly timed absence. “But alas, you are man true to your word and when you say you will return by evening, you will not return even an hour sooner. So I was indeed alone.” It had been a while since Ross had teased so light heartedly. 

“Just as well, dear Ross, for I’m not sure I’d have been much use to you,” Claude said in return.

Ross wondered if this was true or if Claude was underestimating his own strength. Claude Poldark was almost as tall as his brother and had a similar muscular frame. His strong legs betrayed the hours he spent in the saddle and although he often spoke of how he was no use around the place, Claude did labor alongside his brother and the servants. He was not content to watch others bear the burden of the estate and so he tended the horses, chopped wood, and hefted bales as needed. But Claude carried himself differently and somehow appeared less intimidating than Ross, who as a younger man had established a reputation for wrestling and brawling.

Growing up Ross spent much of his time with the sons of the miners who worked for their father, and early on was exposed to some rough and daring ways. He was but a teen when he got swept up in tub carrying and later took his commission in the army to escape prosecution for assaulting a customs officer. Claude, however, was preoccupied with other matters, books or other quiet escapes, and as a boy never accompanied Ross on his exploits about the countryside. He didn’t have the same craving for adventure as Ross seemed to and he stayed behind by choice. That difference in temperament was cemented when they were still young boys. 

It had been a dark time. Not long after they had lost their mother, young Claude had fallen ill. Ross recalled how still his brother lay in his bed, which seemed to swallow his small body. During the days, Ross had lingered at the walls of the room while Prudie and occasionally the doctor, ministered to Claude’s fever. His father would come in at night and weep in the dark when no one was around but otherwise couldn’t bear seeing Claude near death. For days the young boy lay without seeming to move at all. One day, Ross watched his feverish brother shudder with what looked like his last breath but then curiously settle into a deep sleep. It was only a few days later that Claude was up and walking about the house while Prudie aired out his room. Ross had assisted her by carrying out the mattress to burn along with the other linens from the sick room. As he listened to the crackle of the burning pile in the yard, young Ross wondered why his father had refused to burn any of his mother’s things after she had died. Instead Joshua had silently stored them away in old chests in the library where neither boy dared to enter. 

After Claude had fully recovered, their father seemed to pull away from them both. It was as though after losing his wife, his son’s near demise had brought Joshua Poldark to the precipice and he had seen the depths of despair. He could no longer risk his heart with anyone, not even with his own sons.

Claude was changed too. Once a bright and spirited young boy, after his near mortal sickness, he grew more contemplative. Ross sometimes wondered what Claude had seen in his feverish visions, lying alone in the dark. Claude never told but they seemed to have had a profound affect on the younger Poldark brother. It made sense he should pursue the life of a scholar after that. There had even been some talk of Claude entering the clergy but in the end that seemed just too out of character for a Nampara Poldark.

Now fully grown, Claude stood in front of Ross in their parlor. Claude’s coat and neckcloth were tidy and presentable and even his boots bore little sign of dust. Ross wondered if Claude had ever had occasion to hit another soul or even what it would take to arouse any fury in such a measured man.

“Well, brother, I do have pistols! ” Claude laughed. “I suppose I could have made use of those.”

“Oh, one more thing Claude, she has a dog,” Ross remembered to mention.

“Can it hunt?” Claude was quick to ask. 

“I doubt it. It is an ungainly mongrel of a thing, a bit like his mistress, I must say. I know how you are fond of animals but he is not to come into the house no matter how she tries to persuade you otherwise. Do you understand?” Ross said firmly.

“Ross, as I have said before. Nampara is your household,” Claude said with a grin.


	4. Chapter 4

Claude sat by the fire in the parlor, trying unsuccessfully to read. He couldn't quite settle; he neither concentrated on what he was reading nor on the intruding thoughts that wandered through his mind at inopportune times. He wrestled with the idea of going into town to look for diversion but felt perhaps he should stay at Nampara and contribute his labors to its upkeep in some way. There was always firewood that needed chopping, perhaps he should attend to that. He stared at the page again and squinted. It was midmorning but the room was already dim on this grey autumn day; still he hesitated to light a candle so early. He lit his pipe in frustration as Prudie straggled through the doorway. She no doubt was looking for a quiet place to put up her feet and was surprised to see Claude at home.

“Mister Claude, sir,” she said quickly and turned at once to leave before he might ask her to do something. Claude was no better than his brother at inspiring industry in the Paynters but he took a decidedly different tack. While Captain Ross was firmer, quick tempered, often threatening or physical, with Jud anyway, Claude tried a more quiet form of persuasion. Not quite kindness or even flattery but a sort of recognition of the Paynters’ long standing relationship to the home and family. It sometimes worked but more often than not he found it quite draining on his part and since Ross had assumed control of the estate over these last months, Claude found he could tolerate their laziness well enough. This was especially so now that Demelza, their new kitchen maid, had joined the household and had picked up the Paynters’ slack. Immediately things were brighter, more orderly, more comfortable. Claude supposed he should be concerned that Jud and Prudie took advantage of this new young maid but he concluded he mustn't concern himself with domestic matters. Ross was master of Nampara now and it was up to him to manage the servants and any internecine struggles. As long as Claude’s shirts were laundered, his linens and bed chamber cleaned from time to time, his horse attended to, he would be content. He wasn't particularly bothered by the quality of Prudie’s cooking either. When at home he’d eat what he needed to sustain himself, washed down with enough ale or wine to make it palatable, knowing a better meal would await him in town when next he visited.

“Prudie, tell Jud to get my horse ready,” Claude called to her before she slipped away altogether. 

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Mister Claude, Jud’s away on business for Cap’n Ross,” she said. 

Claude laughed to himself at the word “business” as though Ross had actually entrusted Jud with something important. No doubt he’ll take twice as long as necessary and stop at the kiddly before he returned. 

“I can ask the girl if you please, tho’ likely she’s slunk off somewhere to do her moanin’ and weepin’, leavin’ me to do all the chores meself…” Prudie continued, clearly testing Claude’s sympathy.

“Good God, woman!” Claude slapped down his book and rose to his feet. “What are you going on about? I can do it myself. Tell your Master Ross not to expect me home tonight.”

Claude entered the stable in a vexed state of mind, his saddle bag and crop in one hand, his great coat draped over his other arm. He hadn’t intended to travel to Truro that day but staying at Nampara seemed suddenly intolerable. It was proving to be a cold day and he hoped that the hour and a half ride would warm him. He laid his coat and bag against the wall and walked to the stall where his own grey mare, Phaedra, stood proudly. When she saw him she whinnied happily knowing she’d soon be freed of her Nampara prison cell. He went to stroke her white star; he felt the same way about escaping the oppressive stone confines of his brother’s home now and again.

It was then that he heard a stirring in the corner of the stable followed by a heavy sigh. It sounded as though someone was trying hard to suppress a groan or perhaps a sob. He peered closer to see Demelza, the young servant girl, curled in a ball in some distress, her head leaning against a bale of hay. 

His initial thought was she must be hurt--had someone hurt her? Who would have dared to touch the Poldarks’ servant? Or perhaps was she ill? He’d seen plenty of men in town look as fit when they’d been in their cups and taken too much rum. Could she have gotten into their liquor? One look into her wide, scared eyes reminded him that she would never have dared. Her reverence for Ross, who she saw as a savior, was unwavering and she would never steal or deceive him. 

With her glassy eyes full of pain and fear, her tangled red hair, her huddled frame, she looked like an animal in anguish. Before she mustered the courage to speak, Claude came to understand just what might be afflicting the girl, exactly that which plagued all women with the phases of the moon. After living in a household of men for most of his life, he was surprised to be drawn into such an intimate secret with a servant girl but it became clear to him just how alone the young maid was in this world. She had no mother and of course she’d get no reassurance from Prudie.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” she said meekly. “You be needin’ help with yer horse, Mister Claude?” She tried to sit up and Claude saw tears had stained her face, a sight that troubled him. As a gentleman, he did not like to see a woman cry, even if she, as a kitchen maid dressed in the grimmest old clothes, bore little resemblance to a lady. But he also had come to see Demelza as more than a silent servant; she was becoming a bright presence in his brother’s house, who took whatever was thrown her way and met it with fierce resolve. And yet here she was a broken creature weeping in the hay.

“Child,” he began and hoped she could hear the gentleness he tried to insert in his tone. “You are...unwell.”

Her eyes grew wider, filled with panic, as she realised she was being scrutinized by her master.  
“Nay, sir, I’m…” She tried to scramble to her feet but her legs felt so heavy she clutched at the hay bale to steady herself. She had had trouble standing earlier and hoped her legs might better support her after a bit of rest alone in the barn.

“Demelza,” Claude began again, noting the fear in her eyes. “It is a cold day. Go into the house and rest. You will be right again in no time. These... matters pass quickly, I am to understand.” 

Her mouth dropped in shock. Was he really referring to her flux? She wanted to sink into the hay right then and there and never emerge again. She could not think of a more humiliating experience, not even when Captain Ross had first brought her home and stripped her naked to wash under the pump. There had been something so procedural and dispassionate about that act that had not left her feeling ashamed. Instead it was a sort of baptism, an initiation to a new life, cold and shocking but never exposing. But here she was now, months later, fully clothed but laid bare, vulnerable, in front of Mister Claude who asked after her most intimate bodily clockwork.

“This isn’t your first time, child, is it?” he asked. 

This was too much. Her legs gave out and she sat down on her bottom in the hay with a thump, her mouth still open wide in awe. Finally she closed it and swallowed hard. 

Claude was glad of it; he disliked the unbecoming open-mouthed gape she still displayed from time to time. He found that when she smiled or when her face was at rest she had a pleasant countenance, round and smooth, with an almost delicate jawline. Her smile was bright and the brilliance seemed to come more from her eyes than her lips. At most times a slight layer of dirt covered her face, but then again most of the residents at Nampara, himself an exception, seemed to fight a never ending battle to keep themselves clean. Jud and Prudie had mostly given up. Claude had wondered if Ross’s propensity for beard stubble was merely an attempt to hide the dirt that came from his non stop working the land and riding in the dust.

“No,” she croaked hoarsely. “It’s just been awhile, sir.” 

Of course. Here she was now getting regular sustenance, more meals a day than she had probably had in a week in her former home. It would make sense her young body, which had previously been in starvation mode, was adjusting. She had grown inches it seemed since she came and now her internal workings were ready to maintain their own rhythms as well.

For some reason he could not quite fathom, Claude was overwhelmed with compassion for the young girl. She reminded him of the abandoned squirrel kitten he, as a boy, had once found and secretly nursed to health. 

Claude offered her his hand, which she reluctantly accepted, and once he was sure she was steady on her feet, wrapped his great coat around her. It looked ridiculous as it sloped off her slim shoulders and dragged in the dust at her feet. The weight looked as though it might topple her over but he steadied her with his hand on her arm. Just how old was this girl? he wondered.

He went to his saddle bag and pulled out a small flask. He opened it and handed it to her, nodding for her to drink. Afraid to disobey his direct request, she took a small sip. It burned as it hit her throat but the warmth that lingered in her belly felt strangely comforting. He nodded for her to take another.

“It is brandy,” he said. “Next time you might better enjoy it in some hot tea.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said sincerely, still not daring to look into his face.

“Now go back into the house and rest by the fire until you are more steady on your feet, girl. Don’t let Prudie pester you.”

“Thank you sir,” she said again. She shrugged off his greatcoat and returned it to him with care, as though it had been the greatest treasure she’d ever been lent. She quickly exited the stable and hurried across the yard in her long ungainly strides, her arms wrapped around her middle to keep herself warm.

Later, when she thought about that encounter in the hay, Demelza found her feelings confused. It was a sincere gesture of kindness that Mister Claude had offered her and she was touched that a gentleman could be so attentive to another so beneath him. Of course Captain Ross had been kind to her but his benevolence came from a well-maintained distance. He remained detached and never probed her with intimate questions about how she felt. But she also sensed there was something improper about what Mister Claude had acknowledged was happening in her body, unless of course he merely viewed her as just another extension of the livestock on the estate, which she did not suspect he did. To have offered her liquor was also wrong and she oughtn’t to have accepted it. She felt certain that if Captain Ross knew, he would be furious at them both. She made up her mind that Ross must never know, but then worried that Mister Claude had something on her now, something he could use against her if he chose. She would have liked to cherish the moment with Mister Claude for the comfort he had offered her when she had been suffering, but instead it troubled her. And as she continued to live and grow at Nampara she learned she was right to be watchful of this attention.


	5. Chapter 5

Claude sat alone at the Red Lion Inn in Truro, enjoying his mug and his thoughts. He had again been away from Nampara a few days and was glad to have some breathing space from Ross’s moods and the constant worries of Wheal Leisure. Although Claude was a financial investor in his brother’s newly resurrected mine, he did not have the same emotional stake that Ross had. Ross seemed to feel the reputation of their whole family rested on its success. Of course Claude hoped it prospered but if it did not, he could see other opportunities for them in these changing times, new ways of making a name for the Poldarks. And now that his Uncle Charles had agreed to contribute to his education, Claude thought he should settle on a date for returning to Cambridge to resume his study of law. He had not yet broached this subject with Ross and hoped he would be understanding.

Uncle Charles had always expressed a fondness for Claude and thought him the best the Poldark family had to offer. Charles deemed his own son Francis to be rather useless and saw Ross as reckless and as unpredictable as old Joshua had been. Claude was different. He had the manners and restraint of a gentleman but did not live a passive life bankrolled by a family inheritance. Charles admired that Claude knew how to care for his own accounts and how to protect the family name. 

Claude had earned a great deal of respect of the gentlemen in the past few years. A gambler like his father and brother before him, Claude matched their skill at cards but showed more poise and a far more guarded temper. He somehow managed to always know just when to walk away from the green cloths with his winnings in his pocket while still allowing an opponent to save face. It was a remarkable skill and while he had won fistfulls of guineas from his neighbors, he garnered no ill will in return. He was welcomed with open arms into the drawing rooms and playing rooms of the best houses and was considered a friend by many. 

Claude had also seen fit to invest some of his winnings in minor business ventures--boat building, a brick yard, and most recently his brother’s new mining venture. Some of these, aside from the mine, had prospered and allowed him to live a more leisurely existence free from the shadow of his brother’s impoverished estate. Though still young, Claude was his own master and moved through the world on his own terms. 

Charles knew Claude had some money from these investments but not quite enough to establish himself fully in Cambridge. Charles wished Francis had shown the head for such pursuits and also wished it was Ross looking to relocate outside of Cornwall. But he thought it would be advantageous to the family to have a Poldark with knowledge of the law and thus offered Claude further financial assistance so he might return to his studies. 

From time to time Charles wondered if perhaps his concern for his nephew Claude came from a sense of regret that his own brother, Joshua, as second son, had been dealt the lesser hand by fate. Charles afterall, as eldest, had inherited the better land and the ancient family home of Trenwith while Joshua had had to work hard to make anything out of Nampara. The final act Charles hoped to perform, to assuage any family guilt, was help Claude find a suitable match from a respectable family.

But the search for a wife was the last thing on Claude’s mind these days. The pretty but unimaginative girls he met at dances and parties did not hold his interest. Years ago when he was younger, Claude believed that the girl he would choose should have a strong mind and a depth of spirit. But now he buried those thoughts deep, as though a vague and distant dream. Maybe he would feel otherwise once he’d completed his studies and returned to Cornwall. Or perhaps he wouldn’t return to Cornwall at all. 

The tavern at the Red Lion was crowded, teeming with men on business, but Claude managed to carve out some solitude as he enjoyed his drink. His peace was soon shattered by a familiar voice beside him, rich and smoky, purring in his ear. It was Margaret, the harlot who had installed herself at the inn and with whom many gentlemen of the county had become well acquainted. She was not without her considerable charms.

“Mister Claude Poldark, we have not shared a conversation... or otherwise for a time now,” Margaret said, coming up close to Claude on his stool. Her deeply perfumed skin and the crinkling sound of her full gown seemed to assault his senses. He looked into his cup for an answer.

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather taken up with other business,” he managed to get out. He had no interest tonight in the pleasures she might offer and hoped she’d move on to the other sympathetic gentlemen in the room. 

“Family affairs?” she asked, lingering over the word ‘family’. _Yes, she is thinking of Ross and no doubt wondering why he does not come again to see her in this inn._ Ross hadn’t told him about his visit to Margaret after the Assembly Ball but Claude had heard nonetheless. Claude had long ago learned it was not fruitful to measure his appeal to that of his older brother but knew he must from time to time suffer the comparison.

“Yes, family. The lot of the second son you see, is never easy. And when one's older brother is the revered, or sometimes reviled, Ross Poldark, it can be an even more complicated path to navigate,” he said, then gathered himself in his seat to look her in the eye. “But I can you tell you this my dear, it has been years since I was content with my brother's cast offs.” He hoped he had made it clear to her that he would not be seeking any comforts from her this night.

She took this barb in turn and continued, seemingly undeterred. “I see you too are a man of principles then,” she said, still gazing intently at Claude’s face. 

Claude Poldark was, by most accounts, quite a handsome man, with a face that was at once pleasant and enigmatic. He carried himself as a polished gentleman but had depths to his character that were not always perceptible from his outward appearance. Now his light brown eyes burned with a stormy intensity as though a dark mood had struck him. 

“Well, yes principles we Poldarks have by the cartload but not much else, I imagine. And where will this get us? Penniless and alone in the end no doubt…” his voice trailed off and he took a swig from his cup.

Margaret took Claude’s hand in hers and turned it upwards so she could examine his palm. She traced her warm finger up and down its creases. Despite his resolve, Claude had to fight becoming aroused by her soft touch. 

“Poor Mister Claude making his way in the world. Welcomed everywhere but perhaps never quite at home. But alas you will not be penniless and your brother…” she paused.

“Will not be alone? I hope so for his sake. Perhaps if he stops pushing the world away,” Claude interrupted. 

“He need only look around him but instead he casts his eye far on the horizon,” she offered as though she had insight into Ross’s own future. 

“The war changed him, I suspect,” Claude said. He gave her one last weak smile then rose to leave. The solitude of his room beckoned. He had thought enough about Ross for one evening.


	6. Chapter 6

Demelza lit another candle in the Nampara kitchen which seemed to be growing darker by the minute. The sun had set hours ago yet even by mid morning that day, when the October storm had first come upon them, she had found she already needed a candle to do her chores. Now well into the evening she returned to her work table, dug her flour-covered hands back into her bowl to knead her loaves, and tried to find the tune she had been humming to drown out the ferocious wind whistling outside the stone walls. She heard Mister Claude moving about in the hallway and was not surprised when he entered the kitchen.

“Listen to that wind! I shouldn't like to be a fisherman on the sea right now,” he said looking around the room. He smiled at her when he saw she was alone. 

“I be wonderin’ if Captain Ross will stay in town ‘stead o’ ridin’ in this rain,” Demelza said. “But if he do be home tonight, I saved him some supper.” She nodded towards the pot that hung on its hook above the hearth. 

Claude sometimes saw Demelza’s apologetic look when she served the food Prudie had prepared. She did her best to bring Ross and Claude enough ale and bread at table to make the meals more palatable. Claude imagined as unschooled as she was, Demelza would probably do a better job of cooking were she to take it on. More than once Demelza had pulled a pot from the fire before its contents became inedibly scorched when Prudie was nowhere in sight. Demelza was a quick learner and had taken over most of the baking with pleasing results. But Demelza was overworked as it was and burdening her with another household responsibility would only serve to reward Prudie for her idleness.

“You’ll be goin’ to Truro tomorrow, Mister Claude?” Demelza asked him, not looking up from her work. 

“No, not tomorrow. Whatever pleasures await me there will certainly keep for calmer days.” He stood silently for a moment not quite remembering what pretense had brought him into the room. It was of course for some company but he wasn't ready to admit that to himself or anyone else. Just then a shutter flew open and slapped the side of the house with a startling bang.

“Judas!” Demelza cried in alarm, then caught herself when she realised it was only a shutter. “Yes, sir. ‘Tis some storm. Only hope it don't do much harm to the trees and what’s left of the garden,” she added in her rising Cornish tones. She paused for a minute listening to the wind howl and Claude suspected she was worrying that Ross might be in harm’s way as well.

“Does the wind frighten you?” he asked her gently. 

“Oh no sir! I b’lieve it’s just nature’s way of callin’ out and remindin’ us she’s here and must be heeded from time to time.” A few curls had slipped out of the scarf she had tied around her head and when she reached up with the back of her hand to push them away from her brow, she left a trace of flour on her forehead. For a moment it reminded Claude of the white powder the fine ladies had worn at the Assembly Ball and he almost laughed aloud at the comparison. Demelza looked up to see Claude examining her face.

“Just a moment, sir, and I’ll see to that shutter,” she said softly, setting her bowl aside.

“No, please allow me,” he said at once, catching that he had made her uncomfortable. “I do wonder how the animals are faring in such a storm. Phaedra will no doubt be unhappy.” 

Claude left to see to his horse in the stable and Demelza, alone again, realised how uneasy she had grown. Storms did not frighten her and she was never afraid of being alone, in fact she relished solitude whenever she could find it. Yet now she felt on edge, as though she was waiting for something terrible to happen and was powerless to stop it. Fierce hail began to pound the windows and roof; she put her hand to her breast and steadied herself. When she heard Prudie pacing in the hallway she felt a strange sense of relief. 

“‘Tis a proper whirlwind. An’ Jud be out with Cap’n Ross in it,” Prudie moaned to Demelza as though the absence of her mate meant she was somehow exempt from doing any of the evening chores herself. 

Demelza gave her bowl one last working before she set it aside then thought better of ignoring Prudie. “They’ll be sure to be back soon, Prudie,” she said meaning to soothe her. “The hail has only just begun and they won’t be far from home.” 

Claude returned a minute later laughing lightly. “Just as I stepped out the torrents really began. I dare say there is little I can do now if Phaedra is unnerved by the rain. The stables are snug and I'll visit her when all has calmed.” 

Claude moved closer to the fire to warm his hands when the back door suddenly flew open. There Ross stood in shadow filling the doorframe while sheets of icy rain beat down steadily behind him. He entered the kitchen, quickly closing the door behind him to shut out the tempestuous howls that threatened the still and the warmth of the room. A puddle had formed on the stone floor at his feet in the brief moment he had stood there; he was soaked from head to toe.

“Captain Ross!” Demelza cried and flew to him at once. He hadn’t yet said a word but she already had taken off his wet moleskin coat and set it aside on the bench. She could feel how the rain had weighed it down and saw his shoulders lift in relief once it was removed. She moved to the corner where washed laundry hung from the rafters, to fetch some toweling and a clean shirt. In one gesture Ross stripped off the wet shirt that clung to his chest and then rubbed his torso vigorously with the dry cloth she offered him. He seemed to have no shame or even awareness that he was bare in front of a servant and seemed desperate to get warm. He slipped the dry shirt over his wet head and let out a slight shudder. 

Still silent, Ross sat down on a stool by the fire, and again without prompting, Demelza knelt with purpose to remove his boots. First, her small but strong hands stroked the black leather that encased his calves, then she leaned in with her breast, pulling with just the right force to counter the resistance the wet boots offered. It was a barely disguised caress, tenderly performed by expert hands. 

As Demelza attentively removed one boot and then the other, Claude watched this ritual with interest. He noted his brother’s eyes did not look down even once at the young girl at his feet. _God god, does Ross really fail to notice this peculiar creature who lives and moves among us?_

And Demelza, was her memory of her early squalor still so keen that she was truly content to fulfill her duties here taking so little in return? Was she really so self-reliant that she needed almost nothing to subsist aside from a kind word here and there? 

Once the boots were off and set by the fire, Demelza turned and left the room in one efficient sweep. In an instant she had returned with a bottle of brandy and a glass for Ross. It was, in fact, Claude’s brandy imported from France, the one thing about which he could feel confident as his regular contribution to the household. She poured Ross a drink then waited, holding the bottle, as he downed it quickly. She quickly poured him another. When she was convinced that he’d be content with this last offering in his glass, she shook out his wet coat and hung it on the wall peg to dry, then gathered up his discarded shirt and neckcloth. 

“Supper is waitin’ for you, sir, when you’re ready,” Demelza told him. 

Prudie reentered the kitchen and saw Ross sitting by the fire. “Yer fair soaked through, Cap’n Ross,” she squawked in surprise. “And Jud? Where he be? If that miserable black worm be out in the…” 

“Jud is in the stable seeing to the horses,” Ross cut her off curtly before she could begin a tirade about how Jud had somehow wronged her by being out in the storm. “Darkie got spooked by the wind and I had to lead her the last mile. That's why I’m so late and so wet.” Prudie looked at the glass of brandy in Ross’s hand with unmistakable envy, then tottered off to wait for Jud.

“This wind is savage,” Ross spoke again. “It’s unlikely there would have been any boats out on the sea, we can be glad of that,” he went on. “And the cottages at Mellin should be snug after the repairs we made this summer. But the other village folk…surely they will feel its devastation.” He seemed to be addressing no one in particular, just voicing his own disquiet. 

As Ross spoke, Claude paid him little mind; his attention was drawn elsewhere. While Demelza had knelt at Ross’s feet, Claude noticed her smooth white neck, her gracefully arched back. When she moved about the kitchen pouring Ross’s brandy or shaking out his clothes, Claude became aware of the womanly figure she was assuming-- firm round breasts, slim waist, curved hips. His eyes followed her about the room and he felt somehow warmed by her bright spirit. He wished for a moment she was offering him the care, the comfort she bestowed upon Ross, then he shook away such folly and poured himself a glass of his own brandy as a consolation. Demelza belongs to this house, not to Ross, he reminded himself. 

Ross was no longer so deeply chilled. He finished his brandy in one final swig then snapped into focus looking around him as though for the first time that day. 

How different this house, this room in particular, was now compared to when he first returned home. Crusty loaves were baked daily in the oven, bright fires regularly chased out the damp, the flagstone floor was always swept clean. And he, Claude, and the servants, they all gathered together here for common purpose; the kitchen was truly the heart of Nampara. Ross recognised that this, though a small achievement, was something to be grateful for nonetheless. 

As Ross felt the beginnings of a smile creep onto his own face, he caught sight of his brother. Claude was now leaning against the cupboard, brandy in hand, his eyes fixed on Demelza. She had resumed her tasks in the kitchen and after stoking the fire, was setting aside her dough to rise. Ross saw Claude’s eyes run up Demelza’s leg as she gathered her skirts around her to crouch by the hearth. Ross caught Claude’s gaze settle on her bottom as she stretched to reach the remaining laundry still hanging in the the kitchen. Ross’s sense of contentment was instantly dashed as he recognised dangerous longing in Claude’s furtive looks. Here Ross had been so concerned about troubles the rising storm had caused in the village when afterall there may well be threats he’d have to address closer to home.


	7. Chapter 7

Claude rode swiftly to Trenwith. Verity was expecting him for tea within the hour and when he had first set out in the late afternoon, his pace had been a leisurely one. But soon the brutal winds that had been ravaging Cornwall that autumn picked up again and he felt he may as well spur Phaedra on to warm them both and to be out of this chill sooner.

Not far from the crossroad he was alarmed to see a large elm tree recently felled by the winds. It was being worked on feverishly by four village men who were cutting it crosswise, hacking at it with what looked like dull blades. For what purpose Claude did not know. Firewood? Building materials? Claude imagined they had Uncle Charles’s permission to do so, he was very generous with the village folk when it came to his lands, or perhaps Charles had even commissioned them to do the work. Claude wondered how such an ancient and imposing tree should be so easily brought down. Then again, if it were hollow on the inside it wouldn't take much, just a quick wind would indeed be enough.

When Claude arrived, his cousin Francis met him at the door, his hat in hand, clearly preparing to leave. 

“Yes, Claude! Verity had told me she’d asked you to take tea with her,” Francis greeted him with a polite but somewhat insincere smile. He seemed distracted, eager to be on his way. 

“You not staying, my cousin?” Claude asked. 

“No I am not. But I dare say my sister has been looking forward to your visit. Elizabeth too sends her regrets, “ Francis replied. “She has been... unwell,” he added alluding to his wife’s delicate state as she had recently announced she was with child. In the brief exchange he had with his cousin, Claude observed him to be unsettled, dissatisfied in some way. He wondered whether all was well within the walls of Trenwith.

“I am expected to meet George Warleggan. You should quit this gathering and join us,” Francis said, his mood suddenly lifting at the prospect of a companion on his ride to Cardew. “George was only asking after you the other day.”

“After me? And why would that be?” Claude laughed. Claude found George Warleggan neither as offensive as did Ross nor as appealing as did Francis. In truth he had little interest in George Warleggan and even less in what George thought of him at all.

“I believe he finds you a curious specimen, cousin Claude. A rare breed ...a young gentleman, not in debt to the Warleggans,” Francis said.

“Ross is not,” Claude said quickly, almost defensively.

“A technicality, dear boy. Ross does carry debts but no, he is not indebted to Warleggans …indeed you both insist on banking with Pascoe.”

“That was my father's doing,” Claude felt the need to explain. For so long there was little money, few assets, it didn’t make sense to move them elsewhere. _Now for me it is habit, convenience, and for Ross it is loyalty_ , Claude thought. He felt the urge to change the subject quickly from business matters and from Ross.

“And my aunt?” Claude inquired after great aunt Agatha who also resided in the ancestral family home.

“I’m surprised she wasn’t here to meet you as you came. Aunt Agatha too is eager to see you, to see anyone really. I’m afraid we haven't been the most diverting company for her of late. I was...well recovering from my injuries and Verity too has been...” he trailed off without finishing. Claude nodded; he knew he was referring to Verity’s low spirits, less a result of poor health and more readily attributed to her heartsore state since parting with Captain Blamey after their brief but illicit romance.

“Yes, we are glad you weren’t part of that unsavory business,” Francis said cupping Claude on the shoulder, as he made for the door. 

Francis remained ignorant of Claude’s role in that scandal. Although it was Ross’s home where Verity and Blamey met, Claude knew of this secret and had on occasion helped them with arrangements. And even if he was from home the day Francis challenged Blamey, it had been Claude’s own pistols that had used in the duel. Francis was also unaware that it was Claude who introduced Verity and Captain Blamey at the Assembly Ball months earlier. Claude had wanted to return the favor for a time when she had made an introduction for him, at a party years before, the very year Ross had first left for war.

******  
Claude stood in the crowded hallway at Sir Richard Hosking’s grand house trying to avoid the dancing that seemed to be spilling out of the great room nearby. He had just finished a glass of port and struggled with the idea of finding another. He had wanted to remain relatively sober to keep an eye on his father but knew it was unlikely Old Joshua Poldark would return to Nampara with him that night or even in the next several days. Just then Francis’s older sister, Verity, came up alongside him and whispered in his ear.

“Claude, my dear cousin, there is a young lady who wishes to make your acquaintance,” she said softly.

“Verity, my dear. Please spare me. I’ve a notion to find my father and quit this crowded party. Good god, is all of the county here?” Claude murmured in reply. 

“Mister Claude Poldark, may I present Miss Anne Teague.” Verity spoke the name in a loud clear voice to let Claude know the person in question had come up behind him. Sending Verity a quick glare, he turned to meet the girl whom his cousin had just introduced.

He was immediately struck at Anne Teague’s peculiar beauty. It seemed to Claude that she carried herself differently than most of the other girls in the room. She held her back straight and her head high as they all had been trained to do, but she seemed to stand taller than the other young ladies present. Claude at once appreciated her quiet charm. Her hair was not dressed in elaborate piles with drop curls as was the style among gentry ladies. Hers was pulled back and knotted neatly, a single blossom tucked into a plait that wound around her glowing auburn head. She wore an simple but elegant dress of ice blue with delicate pleating at the bodice and sleeves. She had been tugging nervously at her fichu and the bows on her front and the silk had acquired some creases as a result. This didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She had a gleam in her eye and the slight wrinkle of a smile at the corner of her mouth as though she was enjoying a joke of her own. 

“Mister Claude Poldark,” she said to him offering him her hand. “The last time we met, you and your wretched brother and your simpering cousin were throwing crab apples. I believe you were aiming at some boys but did not stop when you saw you were hitting my sisters.”

Claude was flabbergasted. He recalled the incident that had happened nearly ten years prior. Ross had run away laughing and Francis had fled too, in fear. Young Claude had stood his ground to face the girls but then when he saw the fury in their eyes had turned tail as well. Good god, was this intriguing young lady one of them? There was no gracious way out of this confrontation.

“Miss Anne Teague, I stand most humbly repent…” he began still holding her hand.

“My goodness, that’s enough. You were clearly not the mastermind behind it and perhaps even an innocent bystander. Besides, it was my sisters Mary and Amelia that were hit and not me. But I haven’t seen you in some time, have I?” She smiled a warmer smile this time and he sighed in relief.

“I had been at school in Truro,” he told her then realizing he was still holding her hand he dropped it suddenly. 

“Had been? They won’t have you anymore? Have they had their fill of Poldarks?” she laughed again.

“No I’m home before I leave for Cambridge. I’ll be studying law.” He was intrigued by his new acquaintance; he had never spoken to a girl before who was quite so teasing and playful. He thought she was the most mesmerizing creature he’d ever encountered.

“Oh, Cambridge, I envy that! I do wish I were a boy and could ship myself off to Oxford or Cambridge. Or even Truro,” she said, then changed the subject. “I see your cousin Francis is here tonight. He’s grown a bit. And your brother, Mister Ross Poldark?” she asked him as they started to move together towards the crowded great room. Verity had vanished.

“Ross is in America. We haven’t heard word for some time but…” he responded.

“That must be difficult,” she said in a sudden serious tone and stopped to look him in the eye. “I imagine your father must be quite concerned. To have his one son away a soldier and his other soon to be away a scholar.”

Claude looked at her and wondered what else was going through her mind. She was no longer smiling and had seemed to have purposefully cut off her own thoughts.

“Well, we hope for the best,” he said casually. It had not really occurred to him until that moment they might in fact not ever hear from Ross again. His face must have betrayed the shadow of fear because she at once tried to lighten the conversation again.

“Of course it is different with sons. Is it not? My father would no doubt be thrilled to shed a few of us Teague girls.” Claude swallowed hard. He did not know what to say in response.

“Oh dear, Mister Claude, don't look so scandalized. Poor father, has so many daughters to find husbands for. Mother thinks it a great hobby but in truth she is not very good at it. She has been trying for years with Mary and Amelia but without any success. Perhaps she’ll be luckier with our little Ruth, but she has a few years before she enters society. She’ll shame us all, no doubt. The dear thing would love this sort of an event. I’m afraid it is wasted on me.”

Claude again struggled to find words but was so charmed by the candid speech Anne had offered him. He had to admit she was far more engaging than the other demure and overdressed girls in the room. He at once felt she was looking for a conspirator and he was happy to oblige.

“You don’t care for the party?” he asked trying to make sure there was no judgement or reproach in his tone.

“Mister Claude, may I be truthful? I’d much rather steal a pair of gentleman's breeches and slip off into the library over there. Have you seen all the volumes Sir Richard has?”

“Breeches?” Claude laughed.

“Yes, again do I scandalize you by speaking my mind freely? Did you know I believe corsets are designed to prevent a lady from drawing breath and therefore prevent her from forming thoughts?”

“No I did not…perhaps if you went to France you could wear men’s trousers?” he asked playing along with her.

“Oh dear god, no. In France women wear few clothes as it is I am told, but certainly a lady would suffer the weight of the king’s law if she wore breeches.” She seemed to have a response to everything.

“Miss Anne Teague, I don't know what to say. I feel ashamed at the freedom with which I flaunt the privilege of my sex,” he replied.

“Oh Mister Claude, your shame is misguided. I have a plan. See while my mother searches for young attractive husbands for my sisters, I have instructed her to find me the oldest gentleman she can possibly find. Preferably in ill health. And preferably with his own library.”

“Older?” Claude had to choke back a laugh. For a moment he thought of his father and was glad he was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes, then we needn’t waste too much time with the whole romantic pretense. He can expire as he sees fit and I can enjoy the library he leaves to me,” she replied.

“And his trousers?” he asked slyly.

“Well, yes I hope so. Once I am the bereaved widow no one can chastise me for my eccentric ways of mourning, can they?” she said. They now stood at the entrance of the great room where groups of men and women danced to the strings that were playing merrily. The dancers looked flushed though composed as they circled one another and lightly touched their partners’ hands or waists, moving gracefully throughout the floor.

“Miss Anne Teague, I don’t know if you jest or…” he began again.

“Oh, I do speak the truth. That man over there for instance, he has to be nearing sixty. I wonder if he is a magistrate? He looks so serious,” she said furtively pointing to a gentleman standing on the opposite side of the room.

“Mister Trannack? He is a philistine and I’m afraid the only book he has in his home is a _History of Mining in Cornwall_.” He let out a great laugh and hoped no one could tell he was making a joke at the expense of his elderly neighbor. Indeed no one seemed to notice them at all.

“Oh bother, Mister Claude, must you dash my dreams?” she smiled again.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked suddenly, offering her his hand.

“I suppose I must. But only if you talk to me of Aristotle,” she countered and gave him her hand in return.

“Never, my dear lady. Aristotle is certainly too intimate for a first encounter.” He was enjoying playing her games.

“Then we must meet again,” she said but this time betrayed no playfulness in her tone.

Claude had been leading her to the center of the floor but stopped suddenly.

“I’m afraid I leave for Cambridge in a fortnight,” he said solemnly. She looked at him and her mouth trembled a moment before she pulled it into her now-familiar grin.

“Well that is a disappointment,” she said then looked down at her feet. “And are there are no other young men in the room with whom I can share my displeasure so freely. Tell me who is that fop with hair like a French pastry?” she asked, scanning the room.

“Mister George Warleggan. He was at school with my brother and my cousin Francis,” Claude replied hoping she was not sincerely taking an interest in George.

“Ah, yes Mister Francis Poldark,” she said pointing to Claude’s cousin in the center of the dance floor. “Who looks quite besotted as he dances with Elizabeth Chenowyth. But she looks like she is thinking of someone else. But perhaps I sell her short and she is thinking of Aristotle?” she asked.

“I do not think so, my dear lady,” he said and again the shadow of his missing brother crept upon him. “Shall I introduce you to George Warleggan?” 

“No thank you. Tell me, does he have a great uncle near death?” she asked wryly.

“Not that I know of. What about Mister John Treneglos? He may be young but he seems to be looking this way.” Claude felt the need to test her now as they were surrounded by many other young men who would be remaining in Cornwall after he left.

“Oh no, he is always in his cups and too much the dandy. Odd though, Isn't his father a Quaker?” she asked.

“No just a wise man I’m told. But if John Treneglos cares so much for his appearance as you believe, he’d surely have wide selection of trousers for you to inherit,” he said. 

“Mister Claude,” she said softly. “I see now why they refer to you as the wise Poldark.”

“Is that right? Is that how you see me? As wise?” he asked. Again he wanted to know if he was just her plaything for the evening or if the affection he found growing for her was in anyway returned. She looked into his eyes and smiled brightly.

“What else would I see?” she answered coyly. She gripped his arm tightly then fanned her face as it blushed hot.

***  
Claude managed to see Miss Anne Teague two more times that autumn before he left for Cambridge. The first time was brief. His uncle Charles had mentioned he was to ride to Teague House on business and Claude overhearing this, agreed to accompany him. As soon as they arrived Uncle Charles was escorted off to the study and Claude was left to fend for himself. 

He spent the better part of an uncomfortable hour in the parlor with Mistress Teague while the two eldest Teague sisters sat silently eyeing him. He had the distinct feeling they were appraising his net worth as they looked him up and down. Their mother did all the talking and only paused now and again to ask Claude if he agreed with her. On occasion she seemed to fish about for gossip about Old Joshua Poldark but gave up when she saw Claude would say nothing about his father. He observed Mistress Teague spoke as freely as her daughter Miss Anne, but with none of the charm nor witty content. 

Claude hoped his uncle would appear presently so they might leave but there was no sign of him. He declined another cup of tea and was about to rise to search Charles out when Miss Anne burst into the room. She was clearly vexed and at first did not notice Claude at all.

“Amelia! Were you rifling through my desk? Upsetting my notes? Do not deny it, sister. I can tell for the pages are all out of order!” she fumed.

“Anne!” Mistress Teague gasped in horror at her daughter’s unbecoming display of anger.

“Mother, she simply won’t believe that I’m not writing a letter to a secret lover but that I am practicing my Greek….Oh, Mister Claude Poldark! What a pleasant surprise!” Her tone changed at once and she turned her back slightly to her sisters and mother as if to block them from her mind. Claude rose and took her hand in his to kiss lightly. She offered him the flicker of him an encouraging smile and her eyes shone with delight. Without hesitation she spoke again.

“Mother, I am going to show Mister Claude father’s new hound. He is quite fond of dogs,” she said. She gave a sidewise glance to the others in the room but never fully turned to face them. He was not sure if she caught the bitter glares from her sisters or the opened mouthed astonishment from her mother. She motioned for Claude to follow her.

Once in the garden she began to laugh without restraint. He joined her, fascinated with the display of vitality she had shown in her own home. He saw at once that as playful as she had been at Sir Richard’s party, she had in fact been demonstrating enormous restraint then.

“How do you know I care for dogs?” he asked her.

“All men do, do they not?” She seemed surprised at such a question.

“My brother Ross does not,” Claude said.

“Anyway I needed some excuse to save you from that den of hungry wolves. Oh my dear neighbor! It is a wonder they did not eat you alive or insist you propose marriage at once. Oh my, the looks they gave me when I led you away!” So she had seen and apparently was not bothered in the slightest. In the briefest interaction he had just witnessed, Claude got the impression Miss Anne held a unique position in the Teague family; a learned and free spirited girl, misunderstood by her mother and disliked by her her sisters. 

“Miss Anne, I assure you I did not come to seek their audience. I had hoped in fact... to see you.” Claude was a bit embarrassed at Mistress Teague’s artless attempts at match making.

“I believe you, Mister Claude. But this must be the last time, no?” She said as though building a protective wall around her emotions. “Don’t you leave at dawn for your studies?”

“Not for another sennight. Tell me, Miss Anne, do you hunt?” he asked her.

“Never. I cannot bear it,” she said. “So noisy and vicious... but oh, I see!” She understood at once what he was suggesting. “Perhaps if I agreed, we might meet at such an event, Mister Claude?”

“Yes, perhaps I can persuade my neighbor Sir Hugh to invite us to his hunt this very week?” he offered.

“My mother is acquainted with Sir Hugh’s step mother, Constance. Mother would no doubt accompany me and probably insist that Mary and Amelia come as well.”

“Of course,” he said, then a sparkle came into his eye as he continued. “But perhaps you might linger when the others start, your horse spooked by the horn? And I might arrive late....”

“And we’ll have been left behind and instead have a leisurely ride together?” she asked, returning the twinkle.

And so it happened later that week. The riders were all off in a great pageant of celebration and purpose and no one, least of all her mother and sisters, had noticed Anne linger. Her steady old horse needed little coaxing to remain behind and seemed content to stand still and wait. She did not pause long before Mister Claude came trotting up on his stunning grey mare, Phaedra. 

Together they rode on through Sir Hugh’s grounds. When they were certain the others had a considerable distance on them, they slowed to a walk. And after some time they dismounted and tied their horses to two straight young birch trees growing side by side, and continued on foot slowly through the silent woods. 

Finally Anne spoke. “Mister Claude, I do envy your next adventure. I wish I too could learn all that you will read at Cambridge. You must write to me. Tell me all.”

“Miss Anne, you know a gentleman cannot write to a lady without, well without there being a formal understanding…” he said. As soon as he spoke the words he regretted them immediately. They were conspirators, were they not? Certainly they could see around such formalities in the name of learning and knowledge.

Her head fell at once. “Yes, yes I know. Forgive my forwardness. My enthusiasm carried me away.” She raised her eyes up and looked at him with sincerity and concern. “I hope I didn’t alarm you or cause you to think that I…”

Without thinking, Claude bent and kissed her on her lips. She was at first surprised but then leaned into him and allowed him to continue. He felt her smiling and when he lifted his face he saw her eyes were shining; he took her hand.

“Forgive my forwardness Miss Anne. My enthusiasm carried me away,” he said softly but with a satisfied smile. He knew his feelings were being reciprocated and he had no regrets.

“Of course,” she said and looked down, feeling a flush growing on her cheek. For the first time since Claude had met her, Anne seemed speechless. She let him continue to hold her hand while they resumed walking.

“Oh course I could write to my manservant Jud about all I encounter in Cambridge,” he said finally breaking the silence. “And he could pass on such written accounts to the servant of my neighbor at Teague House, could he not?”

“And can your servant read?” she asked.

“No, he cannot,” he said simply. “Can yours?”

“No indeed he cannot.” She paused then laughed lightly as she thought through this plan. “Then it is settled. I shall look forward to your missives. Though I’m afraid I won’t be able to reply.”

“No, not as of yet,” he agreed. “But I will return home at the New Year and we can renegotiate the arrangement. Does that suit you, Anne?”

She gripped his hand tight and looked at him with the serious gaze he was today coming to recognise from her.

“Yes, Claude,” she said and turned her face up towards his. He understood and met her lips again. This time when he kissed her it was not with the same furtive impulse as before; it was patient and with purpose. And while they only remained together for a moment they communicated to one another in the language of lovers who understood and accepted what each offered. It was hard to eventually separate but knowing they would see each other again some day was somewhat of an ointment to ease the pain.

***  
Those first months at Cambridge, Claude wrote regularly to Anne. He never addressed her directly just referred to her as “My Friend” or “My Neighbor” or “ My Fellow Reader of Aristotle”. He fervently related his impressions of the town and the new things he was reading. He wondered if she could read the Greek he had on occasion copied over for her. Sometimes he considered including translations but thought she’d be insulted if he underestimated her abilities. As much as he had dreamt for years of studying at Cambridge, he now found he was eager to return to Cornwall to share more stories with her, especially tales of the immense library he frequented.

But shortly before Christmas Joshua Poldark wrote to Claude and told him not to return home after all. There was sickness about in the villages and as far away as Truro, and he didn’t want to risk Claude taking ill. Claude was disappointed and spent the cold winter months in Cambridge dreaming of the warm lips he once met in Sir Hugh’s wood. When he had trouble finding his own words or when dispassionate summaries of the Fraudulent Conveyances Act of 1571 did not adequately express what was in his heart, he began to copy over poetry for Anne, sometimes in Latin or sometimes even in French. He knew it likely her sisters and mother might be able to read what he wrote but he took the chance nonetheless.

At last Easter came and Claude travelled by coach over two weeks to Cornwall. He had had a successful time at Cambridge yet after so many months away and the arduous coach ride, he found he was happy to be back at Nampara. The minimal preparations Prudie had made for his return did nothing to alleviate the gloom that had settled into the empty house that winter. They had still not heard from Ross in America and Joshua seemed more taciturn than ever. After offering Claude a glass of port, he settled into his chair in the cluttered library to resume his silent brooding.

“To your health, Father,” Claude offered but received no reply. Claude’s gaze swept around the room taking in its untidy state. Just what were all these papers and charts Joshua kept in stacks? he wondered. Joshua had long since closed both his mines, which now stood derelict on the cliffs by the sea. He must have other business ventures but he hadn’t shared any details with either Ross or Claude. The old man spent more and more hours alone in his own thoughts but did not seem to like what he met there very much. 

Claude shuddered then saw the fire had languished in the hearth. He put down his glass and went over to stir up its embers, knowing even a roaring fire would not be enough to warm the room. 

As he approached Joshua’s desk, his eyes settled on a bundle of letters that sat partially obscured by a pile of old worn ledgers. Claude took the bundle in his hands to examine them further. They were tied with a curious pink ribbon but he saw at once they were the ten letters he had written to Anne. He had sent them here to Nampara with instructions they be given to Jud to pass along. Now he saw they had not been handed over to the Teague servant after all. 

Claude opened his mouth to speak. He meant to ask his father if Jud had even received them. Surely Joshua, a man known for his own libertine ways, would not stand on propriety and prevent these letters from being delivered? Could they have been intercepted by Mistress Teague and returned to Nampara? If so why hadn’t Joshua written to him in Cambridge to inform him? It occurred to Claude just then that in all of his months away, he’d only received three brief letters from his father and none relayed any news of importance other than financial considerations and travel arrangements. Joshua saw him holding the letters and spoke before Claude ever voiced his bewilderment.

“Miss Anne Teague caught an infectious fever; she died this December,” he said flatly, offering Claude no comfort nor further explanation. The elder Poldark then turned back to the dying fire and his silent despair.


	8. Chapter 8

Ross awoke to feel the chill of late November in his empty bedchamber It was hard to tell in the late autumn sky when dawn truly arrived; only a grey-yellow smear appeared across the horizon and lingered without really ever brightening. It had been raining for days on end now and from his room he could hear it battering the roof and the grounds of Nampara. In the cold of the night the deep mud froze in hard ridges only to be softened during the day by the pounding rain.

Ross hesitated to remove his bedcovers yet he knew that if he got moving he’d warm himself more quickly. He heard the kitchen door creaking open downstairs and a few moments later, the sound of the pump being worked in the yard. It was Demelza, no doubt, up and about earlier than the rest of the household, getting water for his wash and breakfast. He felt ashamed by his idleness and this time without hesitation got out of bed. He pulled on the trousers he had left in a heap on the floor the night before and as he pulled his stockings up over his legs, he rubbed his ankle thoughtlessly. It now only ached on cold, damp days just like this one. 

The kitchen door shut again and then a few minutes later he heard Demelza return to the yard for more water. He pulled up his braces and went to the window to watch her work. She hadn't put on her cloak, but wrapped herself in an old woolen shawl. She had tied up her skirts so they wouldn't trail in the mud, revealing the old breeches, stolen from her brother long ago, that she wore underneath. _What an exceptional creature this girl is_ , Ross thought. She worked quickly, for clearly it was cold outside and she wanted this part of her morning tasks to be completed. Ross left the window and went downstairs to see to the fires that had not yet been lit in any of the other rooms.

When he entered the kitchen he saw the water Demelza had first brought in was already being heated on the hearth. Bread was in the oven and with the one wall sconce lit, the room glowed golden and warm instead of grey and brown like the rest of the Nampara world. He looked around for Demelza but realised he hadn't heard her enter again; she must still be outside. He pulled on his boots that had dried overnight by the fire then went to the door to peer out. He did not relish the idea of traipsing through the mud but it would be kind to help the girl with her burden this wet morning.

He did not see her in the yard. _Where could she have gone?_ He looked again, squinting through the slanting rain but this time saw the bucket lying in the mud near the pump. Then something else then caught his eye. He flung the door open and stepped into the rain.

In long strides he quickly crossed the yard and found Demelza, lying on her back in the mud, the empty bucket at her side, its contents splashed down her front. Her eyes were closed and her arms were spread over head as though she had been caught in surprise.

_Good god! What have you done to yourself, girl?_ Wasting no time to examine her as she lay in the rain, Ross scooped her up to carry back to the house. At once he was stunned that her frame could feel so light in his arms, for he knew her to be such a strong girl. Most of her weight now came from the heaviness of her clothes soaked with freezing mud and spilled water.

“Claude! Prudie!” Ross’s calls echoed loudly through the house and surely were heard by those still abed. He carefully laid Demelza on the floor by the kitchen fire and knelt close to check her pulse. In a moment Prudie entered the room with her usual reluctant shuffling despite having heard her master’s urgent calls. She took one look at the crumpled girl and threw up her own arms in despair.

“She be dead?” she shrieked, her eyes wide.

“Get me a towel or a blanket. Quickly!” Ross shouted. He was in command but there was just a trace of desperation creeping into his voice. “We have to get her out of these wet things. Help me with the dress.”

Prudie’s mouth gaped but she did not question her master’s request and crouched to help. Her fat fingers fumbled to undo the hooks on the mud-caked bodice and together she and Ross managed to free Demelza’s arms to slip the frock over the girl’s head. Underneath she wore no stays, only an old shift that went down almost to her knees. They left her in the breeches but Ross clumsily removed her shoes and wet stockings. He began to rub her feet but still she did not respond. Prudie tried to wipe the mud from Demelza’s face with a wet cloth and pushed back her matted red hair. It was then that Ross saw the blood trickling down, just above Demelza’s left temple. 

“Good God!” he said in despair and alarm. “She must have slipped in the mud and hit her head on the stone base of the pump. Get me another clean flannel, she is still bleeding!” he ordered again. Prudie had long ago declared she was afraid of blood and after she gave Ross yet another cloth, she tried to scurry away.

“Fill the tub, the water is already heated. We have to raise her body temperature,” he called to Prudie before she got far. “Now!” he bellowed and Prudie quickly moved to fetch the tub and do as Ross bid.

Ross held the cloth to Demelza’s head hoping to stem the bleeding. Ross felt tension akin to panic building in his muscles that he couldn't understand. As a soldier in combat and as a seeker of adventure years before that, he had managed many other moments of real danger with calm determination. Why was he so worried now?

When the tub was filled, Ross carefully lifted Demelza again and laid her in it. She started to slip down at once but he reached in and propped her up so her head was not in danger of going under the hot water. He took the wet flannel and gently wiped her face, looking for some signs of responsiveness.

Once submerged in the tub, Demelza’s white shift at first ballooned up around her. Then, as it became saturated, it was pulled under and settled to cling to her slight form. Her shadowed navel and dark nipples were now easily seen through the wet muslin as though she wore nothing at all. Ross was startled by how, without him realising it, she had taken the shape of a woman these past months. The daytime work frocks she wore with aprons pinned in front covered her modestly and did not serve to flatter her figure. Ross looked back to her still face and tried to avert his eyes from her bare skin, her full breasts, the curve of her hips. Just moments before he had been overwhelmed with concern for her life and now panic was manifesting itself in another way; he felt stirring in his own breeches and sensed he was growing aroused. For the second time that morning, shame rose in Ross. He quickly looked away, desperately hoping no one else had seen him surveying Demelza’s exposed body. 

Ross hadn’t seen Prudie leave the room but now his brother stood frozen in the door frame. Claude’s shoulders were tensed, his arms clenched in alarm. His usually cheerful face was grey in fear. He was looking at Ross appealing for some good news and when he found none, looked to the girl in the tub. Ross saw Claude’s eyes lock on Demelza’s nipples visible in the transparent, wet shift. His gaze paused no more than Ross’s had, but it was enough to fill Ross with a heightened uneasiness that was quickly grew into anger. _How dare Claude lay his eyes on her in this state!_ Ross had been holding Demelza up under her back and felt the urge to pull her close to him, to protect her in his arms, shielding her from Claude’s probing eyes. 

“Demelza?” Ross said to her apprehensively. 

At that moment she shuddered and opened her eyes. She grasped the sides of the tub and tried to look around with unfocused eyes.

“Sir,” she breathed softly then settled back into the warm tub. 

Ross felt his eyes grow wet in relief and was thankful that Prudie chose that moment to return to the kitchen with a clean night gown in her hand. 

“She’s awake,” Ross said speaking more to himself than to Prudie.

“Bless us! You gents be off an’ leave old Prudie to dress the maid. She’ll be warm and fitty ‘ere long! Go on an’ scat,” Prudie said and bade the brothers to leave the room. Ross made sure Demelza was steady in the tub before he rose and moved towards the door where Claude stood with his face in his hands, trying to wipe away the shock that had overwhelmed him. Ross walked slowly towards the parlor and Claude turned to follow him.

“Shall I summon Choake?” Claude asked restlessly once they were in the parlor. He had begun to pace to warm himself and to release his nervous energy.

“No,” Ross said quickly. “I’ll not have her bled and abused by that detestable, pompous boor. She’s better off in our care.” 

Claude thought while this might indeed be true, Ross’s stubborn sense of duty and pride were taking over. Of course Ross would want to order things now; Choake would only try to put him in his place, and serve to make them all feel helpless again.

Just then Jud came stumbling into the room, putting an old crust of bread to his mouth. Suddenly Ross could not control his rage. It was the fury that had built up in him all morning. Fury that one of his servants had been injured, fury that Claude had dared to look so lustfully at Demelza, fury with himself for being moved by her young body. He grabbed Jud by the neck of his shirt and lifted him off his feet.

“You!” Ross snarled. “How could you? You take advantage of others’ kindness and overwork a young girl because you are too lazy and…”

“I, sir?” Jud managed to squeak out. Just then Claude stepped forward and steadily took Ross’s hand off Jud’s throat. 

 

“Ross!” Claude said and guided his brother a few feet away from the addled servant who had begun to gnaw on his crust again.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Ross continued, though now he kept his hands to himself. “She will no longer be a beast of burden for you or Prudie to abuse. From now on you, Jud, will see to the heavy lifting and the water fetching.”

“I, sir? But the maid be so strong and she…” Jud stammered.

“Let’s hear no more of it,” Claude said firmly to Jud. He meant it as a way of demonstrating he was in agreement with Ross and shared the desire to protect their youngest servant. Ross, however saw this interference as something else. By being soft on Jud was Claude undermining him as master? Or was he simply trying to silence Ross’s rage? Jud took advantage of this lapse in the tempest and scurried off. 

Standing now with his back hunched as he leaned against the mantle, his dark head hung and his scar shining in the firelight, Ross looked weary and broken, like the Ross of just a few years before, the defeated, grieving soldier who had just returned home. Claude had grown used to the imposing and commanding figure he had become, the resolute owner of a mining venture and master of a small estate. 

Claude felt he had to do something to quickly restore the household clearly upset by Demelza’s injury, so even though it was still quite early in the morning, he poured them each a glass of brandy. 

Ross took his absently and stood silently looking into the flames. In the warmth of the fire he became aware that his own shirt was wet from holding Demelza up in the tub. Ross felt the last vestiges of anger subside and looked at his brother in despair.

“Claude, what have I done? I took her into our home to protect her and now…”

This was too much for Claude. He found he did not have the patience to listen to Ross’s self-pity. Why did Ross take the setbacks and misfortunes of the common people around him as his own personal defeats? He wondered if Ross would be in as much despair if it had been Claude who was injured. 

“Ross, she slipped as could have happened to anyone,” he began trying to keep his tone measured. “Indeed it didn’t help her cause that she had such a heavy pail in her arms. But, accidents on farms, and everywhere else, do happen and with some frequency. Experienced riders slip from horses, rock falls bury the best miners, stout men are blown off cliffs, children are lost on moors and never found, hands are cut off by scythes…”

“Enough, Claude. Let’s just resolve to do better in future to look out for her welfare.” Ross thought again of Claude’s eyes fixed on Demelza’s exposed body. Ross had put Demelza in that danger and he alone must now build some walls of defence to keep her safe. 

When they later returned to the kitchen Demelza was sitting up in a chair by the fire wrapped in a blanket, wearing the gown Prudie had dressed her in. She shivered but looked up at them both with a cautious smile attempting to show them she was on the mend. Without a pause Claude handed her the full glass of brandy he held in his hand. At this Demelza looked up at Ross for direction and when he nodded his assent, she put it to her lips. 

“Judas!” she cried. “That’s warmin’!” Claude threw his head back in a chuckle and Ross bit his lip to contain his smile. She was back with them.

“Come Prudie, let us get her to bed,” Ross said having regained his controlled, masterful tone. “And see to it that she is tended to and given hot broth. Watch for signs of fever but do not pester her.”

“Yes, Mister Ross,” Prudie said and reached almost tenderly to take Demelza’s arm. 

****  
Later that same morning Demelza woke with surprise not knowing where she was. Ross was stooped, attending to the fire burning brightly in the fireplace at the opposite end of the room, his back towards her. It took her a moment to understand she was in Joshua Poldark’s old box bed in the dark room off the library. She hated that bed and at once rose to sit and escape its confines. Her hand went to her head with a groan, not remembering what had happened.

“Ooh,” she said softly then immediately regretted calling attention to herself.

“Demelza!” Ross turned around. His eyes had that dark intensity that she mostly saw when he was angry but she couldn't detect what he was feeling now. 

“You’re awake. Lie back down, girl,” he said firmly. Then he began to address her again with a little more warmth. “Do you want any…”

“No,” she said quickly. She had no idea what he was going to offer her but was sure she did not want to complicate this confusing situation any further. She did as she was told and laid back on the pillow which smelled faintly of old lavender. She held up her arm and was surprised to see she was in her night rail. What had she done? Ross saw her confusion and stepped closer then paused, careful to maintain a respectable distance.

“Demelza, you were out in the rain. You've had a fall. Now you must rest. Let Prudie handle the household today. You seem to be on the mend but should you take a turn in any way...” his voice trailed away as though he did not want to consider the possibility of her situation worsening.

“Prudie?” It was all she could get out. She recalled she had begun a task earlier and had the nagging feeling whatever it was shouldn't have been left alone. Ross understood her concerns and broke into a slight smile then looked down at the floor to hide the relief that washed over him.

“Don't worry, the chores will get done even without you. Prudie will attend to them, I believe the fear of god has been put in her today.” He smiled weakly at her then left her alone again.

***  
Late that afternoon Claude entered the kitchen and was surprised to see Demelza out of bed, sitting by the fire. She looked up at him in surprise and moved to stand but Claude was quick to gesture for her to stay put.

“No, no, Demelza, “ he began gently. “I believe our Captain’s orders were for you to rest, or have you forgotten?” She recognised his playful tone and smiled at him in return.

“Oh, Mister Claude, I’m at odds ‘ere. I don’ know what to be doin’. If I try to stand, my head still swims a fair bit but sittin’ here by the fire twiddlin’ my toes, I be jumpin’ out of my skin.” 

“Always listen to your head, girl. I see it has been bandaged. How does it fare?” For a moment Claude longed to reach out to stroke her face, as Ross had done when she laid unconscious on the stone floor, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He swallowed hard, grateful to see her upright and on the mend.

“That be Prudie’s doin’. In truth, sir, I ne’er seen her so watchful o’ me. She must be worried I’ll take mortal ill an’ she be left doin’ all the chores herself!” Claude’s heart warmed to see Demelza smile. He noticed she was wearing the old blouse and oversized skirt that had been her work attire when she first arrived at Nampara. She saw him examining her clothes and glanced up at the rafters where her work frock hung to dry after having been laundered.

“Yes, she’s even gon’ and washed my clo’es. And they be that covered in mud too!” This time she didn’t suppress her laughter but let it ring merrily in the room. She looked about nervously in case Prudie would come upon them and witness Demelza’s mocking.

“Well, Demelza, I salute you for achieving what none of us Poldarks have ever been able to do. That is, inspire Prudie to work.”

“Oh Mister Claude. I do be that grateful for her tendin’ to me,” she said suddenly very solemn. “And you, sir, and Captain Ross, of course.”

“Yes, it was Ross who is the hero this day. He found you buried in the mud and it is he you should thank,” Claude said dryly.

“Yes sir, I shall try, only the Captain don’ exactly…” she began slowly, not sure how to say what she felt. He knew at once she meant that Ross was often unapproachable, that most times he failed to notice Demelza at all, and when he did, he saw her as an extension of Nampara, of his domain. She might as well be a length of stone wall or new saddle, as far as Ross was concerned. Ross seemed to know nothing about this young girl, not what made her happy nor what caused her to worry. 

Claude suddenly grew angered by his brother’s hypocrisy. He had witnessed Ross’s own eyes linger on Demelza’s wet shift yet he dared to remain so self righteous in his role as protector of all souls. Claude made up his mind at once, for as long as he remained in Cornwall he would no longer play along but instead would make it his mission to call his brother on this self-deceit. 

Claude looked down with tenderness at the young girl who sat by the fire. She would never admit it, not even to herself, but it was obvious to Claude that she was desperate for some affection from her master Ross in return for what she felt for him. Claude saw he would have to step into the breech and give her the warmth Ross clearly was incapable of delivering.

“Now Demelza, Phaedra and I are going off to Truro later this day, rain or shine. You know how vexed she gets when confined for days on end,” he began cheerfully. Claude knew Demelza liked to hear him talk affectionately about his horse as though the mare were a member of the family. “Tell me, how we are fixed for supplies? It’s been so dark here lately and I suspect it will grow darker still in the days to come. I’ll happily visit the chandler on my way back home.” He had in his mind he should look for a present for the girl. A small trinket of some sorts, perhaps new shoe buckles, or maybe a sweet. That would be a surprise for her and a secret from Ross.

***  
Ross was never a man to dream much in his sleep. When on occasion he did, it was often a copper vein in a rock face that wouldn’t yield to repetitive hammering or mine sums filling a page that wouldn’t add up. But recently a new vision came to him in the night: a figure in a wet gown that clung to her tempting silhouette. In this dream Ross held her tight to him, pressing his lips and his manhood to her, while she wrapped her bare legs around his waist. He would remember little of these dreams come morning but more than once awoke feeling a sense of longing and was surprised to find his bed linens damp, his spirits spent in his sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Demelza marched into the library, her arms full of firewood, then halted once she saw Claude standing by the fireplace.

“Demelza, come in,” Claude invited, turning to face the girl. She was clearly startled upon seeing him and had taken a step backwards as if she were now contemplating exiting the room.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir. I didn’t expect t’would be you here,“ she began. 

“You expected to see Ross,” he offered, hoping he could begin to assuage her apparent discomfort by speaking plainly. He stepped towards her and reached to take the burden from her arms. 

“Yes sir. He do seem to shut himself away in here most nights.” She smiled, appreciative that Claude had unburdened her of the load and that he had understood what she meant. She wasn't exactly disappointed to see Claude in the library instead of Ross, and seeing the warmth in Claude’s light brown eyes, she sensed at once that he was in a cheerful mood. 

It was curious to her that the two brothers, alike in many ways, could differ so much in temperament. Claude could be found lost in deep thought but even when ponderous, was still usually kind in spirit. Seldom did Claude cast his gloom on those around him, as Ross often did when he was brooding. In fact, Demelza regularly found relief at Claude’s lightheartedness.  
Yet more and more she was finding that Ross’s dark humors intrigued her too. She knew they came from a place of both passion and disappointment, the result of his uphill battle to make the world a just and fair place. She recognised Ross was generous in many ways but wished he knew how to better express his hurts. It worked well, she thought, to have the brothers together under one roof.

“Were you looking to speak to my brother? Perhaps I may be of help?” Claude asked her.

“Oh no…” She didn’t want to bore Claude with talk of the household. Besides bringing in more wood for the hearth she had hoped to talk to Ross about next spring’s garden before she went to bed, but somehow this sort of workaday detail didn’t seem like something she should take up with Claude. She did wonder where Ross was so late in the evening but knew it wasn’t her place to ask.

‘You know I still half expect to find my father in here when I open the door,” Claude said before she could leave the room. “He too shut himself away in here most nights. They were a lot a like those two.” 

“That so, sir?” she asked incredulously. “It’s just hard to believe. Ross is such a givin’ gent but Mister Joshua ….well, folks do talk.” She blushed and thought perhaps she had spoken out of turn. She found she had a tendency to do that with Mister Claude, he was so friendly and encouraging with her at times. She was relieved when he let out a big laugh.

“Yes, it is true our father is not well spoken of. He was, shall we say, a complex man? And like our father, Ross feels deeply and suffers disappointment most keenly. But if it makes you think better about your own master, Ross does in fact show more restraint and mostly better judgement than our father did. “ 

Again, Demelza pondered about how folks in the same family could be so contrastive in disposition. Though they still at times bore the weight of Joshua Poldark’s inglorious reputation in the county, Ross and Claude had proven they were dissimilar from their scapegrace father. She knew both brothers garnered respect in the county and she was proud to serve them. Yet at home, Joshua’s shadow lingered over parts of Nampara. Demelza felt it particularly in this library where the mementos he had collected over the years remained, but it was also found in the crumbling out-buildings and the long neglected surrounding stone walls that Ross now struggled to keep in repair. 

Demelza paused for a moment thinking of her own father. Most days she did not think of Tom Carne or the brothers she left behind in the crowded miner’s cottage. That life--grueling, spirit crushing-- was not really something she had yet made sense of. Perhaps it was best left unexamined. Here at Nampara, though she worked hard, she had a sort of freedom, to think and to be curious about new things. She was the Poldarks’ servant but was mistress of herself in very important ways. If she was cheerful and her condition bright, it was her own doing. 

“And yet I do miss him,” Claude spoke again. “My father, that is.” He caught himself before he traveled further in his own murky thoughts and memories. He turned to Demelza and saw she was surveying the desk and the assortment of strange artifacts scattered on it and the surrounding shelves, her eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s a bit of a tomb of the dead in here,” he said. “When my father was alive he used to bring back the relics he collected from Hendrawna Beach, mostly from shipwrecks. Go on, explore,” he beckoned.

Demelza looked at him to make sure she had understood him properly. Then hesitantly, she moved closer to the window sill and picked up a peculiar item that had intrigued her since she first entered the room almost two years ago. She thought it was a weapon or a tool; it had a straight shaft like a hatchet, a stone blade was tied to it with leather straps. Several brown feathers, from what sort of bird she could not tell, hung from the straps.

“That is a tomahawk. I’ve no idea where he acquired such a thing. It is possible Ross brought it back from America, but unlikely. Ross did not bring back souvenirs and seemed to want to forget that part of his life…” His voice trailed off thinking of how the war had changed Ross. In some ways, it could be argued, it was for the best. 

Demelza had now moved to the spinet in the corner. Claude knew whenever she came to tidy the library she went to it first and gave it a thorough dusting, even though it was years since anyone played it. 

“Yes, that was my mother’s. I have only vague memories of her playing it and no one else has touched it since she died.” He wondered if Joshua had it moved in there to remember her or to forget. “It’s curious, though,” Claude mused. “These things were not even his yet they remind me so of him.” Demelza lovingly ran her finger over the keys, amused by the light tinkling sounds they made.

“There are more of my mother’s things packed in that chest, her clothes I believe. Maybe my father’s as well. Go on, open it,” he urged her. “Rummage and explore”.

Again she looked at him cautiously to see if he truly meant for her to open chests and poke through the Poldark family belongings that had been packed away years before. 

 

Slowly she lifted the solid lid of the chest, the whole while her gaze remained on Claude, searching his face for continued permission. His light brown eyes smiled at her; he was clearly amused at her delight. She could not quite fathom why he was taking such enjoyment in this scene but finally turned away from him to look at what was within her reach.

She first lifted some muslin, an old bed linen perhaps, so brittle from age it almost disintegrated in her fingers. The smells --lavender, old wood, dust--wafted up from the chest and she had to fight the urge to sneeze. 

Her fingers alighted upon the smooth silk before she saw it and she was at once intrigued by the sound the fabric made as she gingerly plucked it from the chest. She saw she was holding a dress, a blue satin gown with delicate stitching at the darts in the bodice, ruffles and bows at the sleeves. She almost dropped it in amazement; she had never touched anything so magnificent before.

“Tis that fine,” she whispered. 

“There may be more in there yet... yes, that would have been my mother’s,” Claude told her while she stood wide eyed. 

Demelza continued to touch the dress first with her fingertips, which tingled where they touched the cool silk, then she gathered more of it up in her palms, as though she were cupping water. Soon without realising it she was holding the gown close to her, pressing it against her own body. She caught herself and let out a soft gasp before she dropped it back in the chest in alarm. 

As Claude watched the scene unfold, his interest grew. It seemed such a waste. This old gown made such an impression on the girl and if she didn’t resurrect it from the box, it would only rot away. Whose memory were they honoring by leaving it be? The only ones who might disapprove, Joshua and Grace, were both long since dead. Ross had no notion of what was stored in here and his attachment to propriety was none so great as far as Claude could see, that he would object to Demelza's exploration and delight at such an old thing. Or would, he? 

Claude recalled the morning back in November when Demelza had hit her head, how disgusted he had been by Ross’ hypocrisy when it came to the girl. Ross claimed to care for her but only as her master; he knew little of what she felt or wanted. Claude had made up his mind then that he would pay closer attention to her happiness even if it meant crossing his brother. Now he had a fancy of how to please her that would surely meet Ross’s disapproval, were he to ever learn of it.

Demelza was about to open her mouth to apologize for taking liberties with the dress when Claude spoke to her. 

“Promise me you’ll wear that blue dress and take tea with me some time,” he said. 

“Oh no, sir!” Demelza grunted a laugh at this suggestion, finally taking her eyes off the trunk and turning to face him. “Prudie servin’ me? She wouldn’t know what to make of that!” she added as an afterthought. She felt certain Claude was jesting and she was preparing herself to return back to her evening tasks. She must forget about the chest and its alluring contents.

“Again, I insist,” Claude said. “Consider it your education, Demelza. How can you properly serve a fine lady tea if you’ve never taken it yourself nor dressed in fine things?”

Demelza opened her mouth to object but caught herself before she disagreed aloud with her master’s faulty logic. Surely he must realise servants had other ways of learning to perform their duties and lived lives very different from the folks they served? Why was Claude playing with her so?

Then she thought again about the words Claude used: Consider it your education. He was reminding her it would not always be like this. Was he suggesting she might someday work for another household, and would need to know more about how the genteel folk spent their hours, knowledge she hadn't yet considered she was wanting. Or else…. yes, it was more likely that a great lady might come to live at Nampara. Ross could, and probably would, marry some day and she’d be expected to serve her new mistress with the correct manners she clearly lacked and was unlikely to learn from Prudie. Demelza shuddered. She didn't want to think about such a day and acknowledged to herself that for the first time in her life, she wanted things to stay just as they were.

Claude was blind to the troubled thoughts racing through Demelza’s mind but he felt determined to carry out his whim, no doubt to spite Ross.

“Of course it is too late tonight for tea but you must try the dress on now nonetheless.” It came out sounding like an order. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Take your time,” he added and walked towards the door before she could voice her objections.

She stood staring at him blankly, her brows knit together as she tried to puzzle him out. He was relieved she did not allow her mouth to fall open. He stepped into the hallway and as he pulled the door behind him, he laughed lightly at how much Demelza had already learned since coming to Nampara. 

Demelza stood next to the chest for a moment, shocked at Claude’s odd request. She felt a heightened sense of caution; this was clearly not right. But she found she simply could not resist and reached for the dress. Quickly she pulled off her own clothes and stepped carefully into the long, smooth skirt that seemed to go on for yards and yards. She then slipped the blue bodice over her head without undoing the fastening that ran up the back. 

The gown gaped widely at the neck but she didn’t think to tighten the lacing to correct this. It wasn’t really a job one could do for oneself; a gentlewoman no doubt would have a servant to help her dress... or undress. Was it Prudie who attended Grace Poldark and helped her? She couldn’t imagine Prudie’s rough fingers working these fine silk ribbons. Perhaps it had been Mister Joshua himself. Demelza felt herself flush thinking of Joshua Poldark undressing his wife in the bedchamber upstairs that was now Ross’s.

Even though Demelza had grown inches since coming to live at Nampara, the dress was a bit long for her as she stood in her stockinged feet. She instinctively stood on her toes and lifted the skirt so it did not drag on the floor. She recalled Prudie had once mentioned how the late Mistress Poldark had been a tall lady. Demelza thought Ross and Claude must have gotten their height from her, perhaps their handsome features too. 

Smoother than anything she’d ever worn, the silk felt stiff nonetheless on Demelza’s bare skin. The smell of lavender from the chest grew stronger still as she moved about the room. It was the scent more than the size or the feel of the gown that reminded her she was wearing someone else’s clothes. She went to sit and was surprised at how, in such a sleek gown, she nearly slid right off the chair. She pushed her toes against the floor with deliberate effort and flexed her calves to stay perched in her seat. She looked down and noticed that as she sat, the neckline yawned wider even more. She tugged on the bodice and it nearly slipped off her shoulders. No doubt Grace Poldark was made differently than she was.

Just then she heard a gentle knock on the door.  
“Demelza?” Claude spoke softly and waited for her to answer before he entered. A smile, gentle and sincere, spread across his face when he saw her sitting demurely in the gown. His eyes shined warmly and made her feel slightly more at ease in such an unusual circumstance.

“There,” he said. “That afternoon dress suits you.” 

“ _Afternoon_ dress? Judas! A dress jus’ for the afternoon?” she sputtered, putting her hand to her breast to cover the exposed skin. 

“Yes, there’s morning dresses, evening dresses, and that one would have been for afternoon.” Claude was amused at her response. Despite the improvement in her attire, she was still the same earthy, honest girl whose company he had come to enjoy.

She looked down at her lap, still amazed that she was wearing such a dress and shifted in her seat with excitement.

“I do like how it sound when the silk rustles. Must be divertin’ to wear tho’. I could hardly keep still, I’d want to hear that all day!” Her laughter filled the library and Claude felt satisfied that his mission to make her happy was proving successful.

They sat like that for some time, both looking into the fire, not saying much to each other. The awkward tension that Demelza had first felt when Claude came in, soon dissipated and she found it entertaining, even comforting to just sit. She still wasn’t sure why Claude had beckoned her to put the dress on but she began to feel less guarded about the situation as a whole. There was no harm, no shame in it, was there? Was this really so different than sitting by the kitchen hearth as they did so many other nights? She did not want this scene to end and tried not to think of the many chores she still needed to complete before going to bed that night. At last she stifled a yawn, which Claude met with a smile.

“Well, well. Indeed it is getting late and I shall be off to bed. I have business I must attend to with my Uncle Charles tomorrow so I’ll need to make an early start.” He rose to his feet but motioned for her to stay sitting. “Stay as long as you’d like,” he said. Then as he stood in the doorway he added, “Thank you for indulging me, Demelza.”

****  
Alone in the library, it took Demelza some time to free herself from the confines of the gown. Since it fastened down the back she couldn't quite reach to get it unlaced. In the end she got the top lacing loosened somewhat, then wriggled the bodice over her head, nearly getting stuck in the process. 

After she had tucked the gown away again, Demelza sat for a moment on the chest before getting fully dressed. Her worn muslin shift felt soothing to her bare skin after the exhilarating, but stiff satin. It was what she was used to. She slipped her work dress back on over it and smoothed out her own skirts with her palms. She had never dared to hope she’d wear so fine a dress as the blue one she discovered that evening. And as much as she found the experience thrilling, she was happy to be back in her own clothes. Yes, she wanted things to stay just as they were now. _This is where I belong_ , she reassured herself. 

She rose to rake out the coals in the hearth and was surprised to hear Ross’s boots in the hallway. Though the brothers mostly sounded alike, she could perceive slight differences; Ross’s steps were a bit heavier, faster, his strides longer. Whether inside the house or moving across the dusty yard, he didn't seem to alter his gait. Her heart leapt in her mouth as she quickly exited the room.

She met Ross in the darkening hallway and without meaning to, stopped and stood, her mouth gaping open as she stared at him.

“Demelza?” Ross asked her, puzzled by her expression. He wasn’t sure what was troubling her; her face was flushed and she did not seem her usual confident self, standing with her back against the library door.

“Sir! Tis late! You’ll be wantin’ supper, sir!”, she barked, looking away from him. She bent her head and marched with purpose towards the kitchen.

Ross took off his hat and chuckled at his peculiar servant who was at once amusing and impossible to understand.


	10. Chapter 10

“Ross? You wanted a word?” Claude stood at the doorway of the cluttered library and spoke to his brother who was stooped by the fire. Ross took a few paces looking down at the carpet then turned to face his younger brother. Ross had long deliberated about whether or not to mention his concerns at all. Claude was leaving again for Cambridge later that month after all. Perhaps there was less urgency than Ross had originally thought. Could Ross just be patient, and vigilant, until Claude left? 

He had thought so until just the previous day. He had come across Claude helping Demelza with her churning in the kitchen and felt alarm grow in him yet again. Claude had been making a game of not understanding how the table top churn worked. Demelza laughed trying to correct his faulty technique, swatting his hand away and scolding his inconsistent pace. When Ross entered the room, Claude was leaning over her as she sat at the table; he seemed unduly casual in his unbuttoned waistcoat, his neck cloth loosened. When Demelza looked up at Ross, she was flushed and revealed a flicker of embarrassment in her eyes, as though acknowledging something was not right. Her warm smile faded instantly.

_No, it has to be done._ Surely Claude was wise enough to understand this wasn't about what really happened within the walls of Nampara but more to do with what others said about them all. Ross felt self-contempt rising in his gut to think he valued the opinions of the neighborhood for even one minute. It was his household, his duty to order it as he saw fit. But he no longer had only himself to consider. He must consider Demelza’s welfare, her future outside of Nampara.

Claude entered and looked attentively at Ross. His older brother certainly appeared troubled as he poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the desk. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Claude,” Ross started solemnly. “We, you and I that is, must think about what we can do...what is our duty as the Nampara Poldarks, to protect Demelza...her reputation, I mean. Surely you’ve heard the whispers, a servant girl engaged so young, in a household with no mistress and two men…” Ross began. 

He had rehearsed this speech in his head a number of times and thought he had smoothed out the more troubling parts yet still he found he was stammering. He’d need to get straight to the point. _Claude must refrain from being alone with Demelza anywhere in the house or on the property, on his direct orders._

Claude listened to his brother with curiosity then raised one brow at the mention of Demelza’s name. He interrupted before Ross had a chance to further his point.

“I thought perhaps you were referring to the young men who have been walking through our land with ever growing frequency,” Claude said archly, knowing that this was not in fact what his older brother had been thinking. “Oh, they say they are just stopping to greet Prudie but I’m rather sure they are stealing a glance at our own Demelza as she bends over the washtub.”

“Then they must stop,” Ross said sharply. He himself was startled at how quickly the anger had risen in his voice. He disliked Claude’s tone and sensed the situation was moving beyond his control. “Prudie must discourage them from using our paths…”

“Oh, she won’t like that. Prudie says the occasional servant visiting from other houses, village folk and miners passing through, is all the company she gets.” Now Claude was enjoying needling his brother. Clearly Ross hadn’t considered how many eyes outside the house might be on Demelza. “But if it is your wish, I’ll speak to her and to Demelza…”

“No, let it be me. I will speak to them both, I am Master of Nampara. And I’m not terribly troubled by what Prudie may or may not like,” Ross began again. “But there is one other thing, brother, closer to home. Within our walls here...” Ross had assumed a commanding voice, asserting his position as the eldest son. 

He did not often need to do so with Claude. Their interests were so different, they each pursued their own paths and over the past eighteen months, seldom disagreed. When Ross had unexpectedly returned, Claude was happy to see his brother alive and well and had, without any friction or ill will, relinquished the title of master of Nampara and sole heir to Joshua Poldark’s paltry assets and sizable debts. In fact, shedding the duties of managing the estate, meant Claude was fully free to pursue his own path. He still kept a room at Nampara but stayed away more and more often. He would soon be away for months attending to his studies but while he was still in Cornwall he now spent the majority of his time in Truro.

Ross took a deep breath and shook his head in determination. 

“Have a care, Claude. Demelza is young, innocent, she could easily grow confused by a friendly gesture. I must insist, Claude, that henceforth you are not to be alone with her…” Ross said.

What Claude said next was something he had not intended. He had been searching for words to wound Ross and was surprised at how easily they came. He later regretted that they had been spoken at Demelza’s expense and prayed she never learned of them.

“Innocent?” Claude repeated. “Oh my dear brother, there you are very mistaken. Demelza may be _inexperienced_ but she is not innocent.” 

Ross felt the tips of his ears begin to burn as his brother spoke. 

“But I’m departing again soon enough and if it will put your mind at ease, I will gladly avoid all our servants for the next few days,” Claude added calmly.

Ross took another deep breath. _There, it was done._ He had actually expected more resistance from Claude and was relieved that these impertinent remarks were all he had offered. Ross hadn’t liked the insinuations about Demelza but he did not believe there was any truth in what had been said. Surely this was just talk from Claude. Ross was feeling satisfied that would be the end of the matter, when the younger Poldark brother spoke again.

“And my dear brother, the gossip is a lost cause until both of us marry or until she does. So if it’s not from gossip, just what are you trying to protect her from, Ross ? A salacious miner or perhaps a mine owner with a troubled conscience?”

Coupled with Claude’s earlier suggestion that Demelza lacked innocence, these last words stung Ross as undeniably impudent. His face ran hot, his muscles went taut, fury boiled deep in his belly. He gripped the side of the desk with his right hand to prevent himself from reaching out to strike his brother. Claude laughed lightly at the sight of his quick-tempered older brother so obviously fighting to remain in control. It was when he heard this derisive snicker from Claude that Ross snapped. 

In one powerful move, the glass Ross had been holding tightly was dashed to the floor in anger. It shattered at once; its contents first pooled, then, where the wooden planks of the library floor were less level, rolled in red rivulets until finally seeping into the cracks between. 

Still smirking, Claude turned and left without a word. He pitied his brother for clinging to an outworn, misplaced sense of heroism and duty. For believing he, Ross Poldark, an impoverished country squire, could alone save all of Cornwall-- its miners, its fisherfolk, and even its kitchen maids. 

As he stepped through the door, Claude found himself face to face with Demelza who had come to the library to clear away the dishes she had served earlier to Ross. She looked up with alarm into Claude’s flushed face, then feeling uncomfortable at the intensity of his gaze, lowered her eyes. Claude quickly composed himself and as he placed his hat on his head, bowed lightly to her with a smile, a gesture she found both puzzling and troubling.

Ross stood at the window his back towards Demelza as she entered the cheerless library. She spotted the broken glass on the floor and at once understood what had happened. She sensed his moodiness and moved silently to gather the empty plate from the desk. After stealing a quick glance at Ross, she bent to gather up the shards of broken glass. 

“Don’t touch that!” Ross bellowed at her, turning around, his eyes black with fury. 

She froze. In truth she’d seen him angry many times before but he’d never directed his violent temper towards her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She felt a frightening shock but also something else she didn’t quite understand. 

“Sir? I…” she stammered disbelievingly. “Yes sir, of course,” she said quickly, lowering her eyes again and leaving the room. She stopped in the hallway and put her hand to her belly, catching her breath. She was near certain he wasn’t actually angry with anything she had done but to see him so aroused with fury was exhilarating in a way for which she was ill prepared. In the library, in the eye of his storm, she had had a strange flicker of longing to reach out to him, to somehow offer him some calm, but now she thought better of exploring those feelings further and knew they were best buried deep. She caught her breath and returned to the kitchen in quick strides. 

The front door slammed again and she knew this time it was Ross off to bury his feelings thirty fathoms below ground.

***  
When Ross returned to the library the next day he was surprised to see the room had been tidied. On the desk books were stacked, charts rolled neatly, broken bits of quill had been removed. The ashes had been swept from the fireplace, and the spinet, though never played, was dusted as it usually was now. But there on the floor, just where it had been left the previous evening, was the broken glass; the congealed stain of deep red had soaked into the thirsty old floor boards nearby. He knew from the dusted spinet that it had been Demelza who had attended to the room but he was puzzled why she had left behind the broken glass. He sat down to attend to his mine sums and quickly pushed the matter from his thoughts.

In the days that followed, as she worked at her chores, Demelza found she could not forget the scene in the library with Ross. Churning, scrubbing linens on the washboard, kneading dough all had a rhythm that seemed to cause her to run her thoughts in circles, returning to them over and over. She had come around to the idea that the he had no cause to have treated her as he did and that she was indeed right to feel hurt by his outburst. Ross had assured her previously that her work was satisfactory; since that day she’d only improved in skill and industry. She took pride in her place in the household and would not be reduced to a jittery rabbit by his foul humors, even if he was her master. She had had sympathy for him in the moment but now she did wish he could maintain his composure as his brother Claude was able to do.


	11. Chapter 11

“Prudie, Claude will be returning to Cambridge in three days time,” Ross told his servant, wishing what he had to say was merely a simple order. 

“But Cap’n, I thought Mister Claude wasn’t leavin’ us till the first of the month. Surely tis a change o’ plan. In haste he is,” she countered as though she really could argue Claude’s travel plans with Ross. He ignored this and continued on with his instructions.

“You and Demelza will need to help him pack. I want you to see that his clothes are cleaned and his trunk is prepared for travel without delay,” Ross paused, not sure how to continue with the rest of his instructions without Prudie mistaking his motivations. He’d need to get to the point. 

“And Prudie, see that Demelza is not alone in Claude’s room while preparations are being made.”

“Yes, Cap’n Ross.” she said with a grin and Ross knew she was already spinning her own tale of what her master had commanded. So be it, he thought. It had to be done. 

Prudie wasted no time passing these orders on to Demelza with a smirk. “Come girl, we need to get Mister Claude packed an’ ready for his journey,” Prudie said to her, coming upon her in the hallway and handing over a bundle of shirts that needed laundering. 

“‘Course,” Demelza said. “Shall we get his coats to brush and press too?”

“Nay girl, not thee. Go get scrubbin’. You aren’t to be in Mister Claude’s chamber. Orders from Cap’n Ross hisself.”

“Captain Ross said what?” Demelza said in disbelief. “I’ll just see to the…”

“You ‘eard me, Cap’n said you isn’t to be in Mister Claude’s chamber so you isn’t! No doubt he’s got suspicions what ‘ee might be up to in ‘is things. Now get those shirts clean before I…”

Demelza walked away from Prudie before she could finish her idle threat. _Something is not right here_ , she thought. Suspicions? Of her? Lately Captain Ross had seemed to trust her more and more with special tasks about the house and even asked her to accompany him on errands to town. So why today had he given his directions to Prudie and not her? And barring her from helping Prudie pack Claude’s trunk? Why would he restrict her movements in the house, in helping Mister Claude get ready for his journey? She couldn’t believe he was dissatisfied with her work but she had to assume the worst. She must have done something wrong for him to have bothered to voice such an order.  
Demelza sighed in frustration; she felt certain that at that moment Prudie was doing nothing more up in Claude’s chamber except perhaps sitting with her feet up. She heated water for the washing and pondered this more.

Demelza disliked doing laundry even though she was proud that the results of her washing were far better than Prudie’s ever were. The Poldark brothers’ shirts were always fresh and white, their neck cloths tidy and never stained. 

Mister Claude‘s shirts were easier to clean than Captain Ross’s. He didn’t perform as much manual labor as his brother and it was mostly droplets of food or drink that she’d have to work on the scrub board to get out. Captain Ross spent his days in the dusty fields, and in the even dustier mines, and his shirts were always grey all over from it. They also bore yellow streaks from his perspiration under the arms and along the back. But even though she had to work harder at Ross’s shirts, for some reason she couldn’t name, she found she prefered washing them to anything else.

There was something Demelza had recently discovered in her laundering of the Poldark brothers’ things that she daren’t mention to a soul. But truly, to whom would she? She had no confidantes. While she was far from certain as to the exact cause of such stains, she had an idea they involved the secrets of a man’s body and would be most indelicate to speak of or even think about. This evidence of discharged fluids was found mostly on Mister Claude’s sheets and sometimes on the lower lengths of his shirts; from time to time it would take a bit more effort on her part to scrub them out. But lately she’d noticed Captain Ross had also had a few such spots on his bed linens as well. She wasn't sure but suspicioned that his yearning for Elizabeth Poldark would be connected with the spilling of his spirits in the night. Her chest felt heavy to think of him so troubled, then she felt the burning of jealousy flush her face.

Demelza wondered what the maids who would be attending Claude’s rooms in Cambridge and seeing to his laundry would make of these remains on his linens. She thought they might have better ways of handling them than she did. She’d never had any proper teaching as a maid afterall and had had to make up her own methods for half of what she accomplished in the household. _I could learn a lot from those maids_ , she thought. 


	12. Chapter 12

Claude sat on the edge of his bed and sighed as he looked into the nearly packed trunk open at his feet. Inside it his pressed clothes had been carefully placed; he suspected, although wrongly, that he had Demelza to thank for that. 

His heart ached again recalling the unkind words he had spoken to Ross about her. He most regretted that he had doubted her innocence aloud. Of course she was innocent, even if she did have a deep understanding of the ways of the world and of human nature too. She was wiser than her years but indeed she was still unblemished in other respects. She did not deserve to be dragged into his disagreement with Ross, but Claude supposed, she had been in it for sometime already.

Claude felt no regrets about parting with Ross but for a moment thought he would miss Demelza’s companionship whilst he was away. Or was it just that her playful spirit and her glowing head of hair reminded him of someone he knew long ago? Such foolishness! He chided himself for over-thinking the role the servant played in his life and rose to examine the books stacked on the table. 

He quickly assessed which ones would fit in the trunk and the many he’d leave behind. There was no need to bring them all; he’d soon be returning to his beloved library at college. He tried not to think of how, when he was last away, he had attempted in his letters to Anne Teague to capture the wonders of what he found there. Pushing these thoughts aside, he went to his cupboard to gather the notes and papers he might also bring. But at the back of the shelf, behind his old journals, there they were still: his letters to Anne were just where he had tucked them years ago after he’d retrieved them from his father’s desk. Without hesitation, he slipped the bundle, still tied up in pink ribbon, under the clean shirts in his trunk. 

Claude never learned how the letters had been returned to Nampara and since his father was long since dead, he didn’t think he’d ever know.

***  
It had been just a few weeks into the new year and the light snow Cornwall had seen that winter had turned to an icy rain. Just the previous month, old Joshua Poldark had written to Claude telling him of sickness in the local villages and urging him not to return home at Christmas as he had planned. Since then Joshua, forever worried of taking ill, had holed himself up in Nampara, refusing all visitors. On Christmas Eve, his own brother Charles had sent round a servant with a Christmas pudding, but Joshua denied him entrance to the house and ordered Prudie to dispose of the gift. As soon as old Joshua had stumbled back to his brandy and his box bed, Jud had taken the servant around to the kitchen door for a small glass of rum and later, unbeknownst to their master, he and Prudie had enjoyed the pudding.

Now on this bitter afternoon Jud stood at the doorway staring at this mite of girl who had just knocked. She looked all of about twelve but may have been older; the warm outer clothes she wore dragged on the ground as though she had not quite grown into them. Her groomsman stood under cover further away in the yard, holding both horses as they struggled in the wind.

“Who you be wantin’?” Jud asked her quickly, not fully opening the door to the cold.

“I’m here to see Mister Poldark,” she replied crisply. She looked him in the eye trying her best to assume the air of confidence expected of a gentle lady although she was merely a child herself. 

“Aye, Mister Claude be away at Cambridge and Mister Ross well, he be…” he did not finish his sentence.

“No,” she corrected him. “I’m here for your master, Mister Joshua Poldark. He’ll see me, tell him Miss Ruth Teague has called. I have something to return to him.”

Jud stood clutching the door with his mouth open in amazement and pondered his next course of action. He was a servant and she was gentlefolk, regardless of how old she was, so surely he must show her respect. But his master had told him to admit no one, not even those bearing gifts. And for a moment Jud felt a duty to protect this young girl from whatever scheme she was brewing, seeking out Old Captain Poldark alone, without a proper chaperone. Jud knew too well he had cause for alarm; all ladies regardless of age seemed to need an army of escorts when calling on Joshua if they wished to leave with their honor intact. As Jud wrestled with his conscience, the library door opened and Joshua stepped into the hallway.

“What’s this?” he bellowed, then took a look at the young girl standing in the doorframe and composed himself somewhat.

“It’s...err...a Teague girl from...err...” Jud stammered.

“Yes, yes, Teague House. Invite her in, Jud,” Joshua said at once. “We’ll be in the library. There is no fire in the parlor hearth.” With that he turned and left both Jud and the girl standing in the hallway. 

It was several minutes before the girl entered through the library door. Joshua had already stirred the coals and assumed his place by the fire. He spent most days sitting in his chair, brooding over lost loved ones--his long-dead wife and his two grown sons far from home. Ross, his eldest son, who looked so much like his departed wife but acted so much like Joshua himself with his impulsive ways and hot temper, had been at war for over a year now without a word. At what point would they have to consider he might never return home? And Claude... yes, Grace would surely have been proud of him--learned and well-mannered, off at Cambridge. Would he return someday or stay away and build a new life for himself far from the heartaches of Cornwall?

He was again pondering his new state of loneliness when he remembered the girl and looked up to see her standing, impatiently waiting to be invited to sit.

Miss Ruth Teague held her shoulders square and her chin upright as she looked at him with narrowed, determined eyes. She wore a fur lined cloak of robin’s egg blue, the silk deeply creased where she had been holding it up to protect it from the mud. Several mended moth holes revealed the cloak had had a long life, most likely worn by an older sister for many years or maybe even by her mother. 

A memory flashed through Joshua's mind of the girl’s mother at a garden party years ago. She had been just a few years older than young Ruth was now. He remembered his hand cupping her breast, his lips pressed to her neck, as they were concealed from other guests by the tall hedges at twilight. Whose garden had that been? Was it his own brother's engagement party so long ago? It was before she had met Mr. Teague and before he'd found Grace. That had been a warm night and now the icy draft that had blustered through the old stone house called him back to the present.

“Yes, of course, sit,” he grumbled. 

She nodded and rested lightly on the edge of a seat nearest the door. She did not remove her cloak but reached underneath and removed a small bundle, tied in pink ribbon.

“These, Mister Poldark, are for you,” she began. He looked at her quizzically so she continued. “They are letters from your son to my sister.” 

He choked back a laugh that turned to a cough.

“Ah, dear madame, are you here as the arbiter of propriety? Is that why you return them? Because the scoundrel had no business writing letters to an innocent girl? And oh, so many of them! I can only imagine what they contain.” He was enjoying trifling with her. He expected her to grow vexed or perhaps flush with embarrassment, but to his amazement she did neither.

“I do not know what they contain. I did not read them. They are largely written in Latin and Greek,” she said firmly.

“I thought you said you didn't know what they contained and yet you saw enough to know you could not read them,” he said archly.

So these letters to a young lady were not from Ross, but from Claude. Fool of a boy, writing love letters in the tongue of his beloved ancient scholars. Then again, perhaps it was a wise move since likely no one at Teague House had been able to decode them.

“And your sister? Does she know what they contain?” He leaned in closer and whispered in a raspy voice. “Does she know you’re here?”

Before she could answer, Jud came through the door, his arms filled with more firewood. He looked around the room nervously then nodded with satisfaction when he saw the girl still wearing her cloak. Joshua was disappointed at the intrusion of his usually discreet servant but took the opportunity to ask him to refill his brandy glass.

“And you, Miss Ruth?” Joshua asked, offering her a drink as well.

“Mister Poldark, I hardly think it would be proper …” she began with her clipped and assured tone.

“Yes, proper. We must remain proper.” Joshua repeated. “Leave the bottle, Jud. That will be all.”  
Jud scanned the room nervously then twisted his mouth in a grimace and left. 

Miss Ruth Teague and Joshua sat for a moment in silence before she cleared her throat to indicate she was going to speak. He cut her off.

“My dear lady,” he began. “I will take those infelicitous letters from you and keep them safe until my son returns home. I trust your mother knows nothing of this visit?”

She nodded her head slightly. He imagined her white, bony knees under those big skirts.

“And no doubt you’d like me to keep this secret?”

Again she nodded but this time an almost imperceptible flush came to her cheeks. He sensed her fear. Or was it excitement?

“Well then, let us come to terms, Miss Ruth. Drink this brandy to warm you, so you do not catch ill on your return home and I’ll speak none of this to your dear mother.” He held his hand out for the letters, then stood up and shuffled towards the desk to fill another glass.

She opened her mouth to protest then realised the predicament she’d placed herself in. She took the glass from him without argument. Her shining eyes remained trained on his lined face as she raised the glass to her lips. There she paused, but when she saw he was still watching her, she took her first drink. Her throat burned and her eyes stung at once; she blinked quickly so that he could not see her tears. She pulled her spine even straighter in her chair and raised her chin, again assuming her well-rehearsed poise. At this Joshua laughed.

“Good girl,” he said. “Always indulge the whims of your host.” 

He nodded for her to take another sip and again she obliged. This time she felt the warming deeper in her chest and she reached up to unbutton her cloak, letting it fall backwards to pool on the floor at her feet. She fanned her hand at her breast to cool herself then was immediately grateful for the fichu modestly covering much of her blushing skin. She felt his eyes darting over the front of her flat bodice, aware that no signs of womanhood, not even the smallest buds, had yet emerged there.

“You’ve heard word from Mister Claude?” she tried asking, hoping that resuming pleasantries of conversation would distract her from the new sensations swimming in her head and ears.

“Won’t be home until Easter,” he answered simply. He watched her as she started to fidget in her seat. One toe peeked out from under her skirt and she began to tap her foot. Slowly she was less able to maintain her womanly airs and the restless little girl began to emerge. He laughed again.

“You never told me, Miss Ruth. Does your sister know you are here?” Joshua was not exactly clear how many Teague sisters came before this one. He had seen them overdressed and desperate at various affairs around the county; they all seemed to have the same small mouth and cruel eyes. He looked up to see this one’s brown eyes now swimming with tears. The hawk-like intensity was gone.

“My sister Anne,” she began, then swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. To Joshua’s great surprise, she took the last of her brandy in one great gulp. This seemed to help her to find the strength to continue speaking. “Anne took ill and died this Christmas, Mister Poldark.”

Now the tears flowed down her pink face in great streams and her head bowed. He saw her shoulders shake and knew that deeper sobs were coming. He wondered if she’d yet had a chance to grieve for her lost sister or if this brandy-fueled opportunity in front of a stranger allowed the sorrow to finally be released. 

No doubt there had been room at Teague House for only one mourner. He could see Mistress Teague playing the part of the bereaved mother in her costume and affect. She would have to be consoled and attended round the clock and everyone else, even one who had genuine affection for the sister, would have to defer to Mistress Teague’s more urgent distress. 

Yes, now he recalled which sister was Anne. The tall, spirited one with auburn hair and more wits than anyone else in that family. Of course she had caught Claude’s eye. Poor devil.

He rose to his feet and retrieved the cape from the floor, wrapping it around the girl gently, then he rapped on the floor with his cane, calling for Jud.

“Jud,” he said when the servant finally arrived. “See that Miss Ruth is put safely on her horse and give her groom something to warm himself before they make the trip back home.”

He took her hand in his and lightly brought it to his lips. 

“My condolences to you and your good family, Miss Ruth. I’m sure your dear sister will be missed. My son and I thank you for troubling to return his letters.” 

She nodded and sniffled into a handkerchief she had produced from her cape. Then she rose speechless and followed Jud out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13

“Demelza!” Ross called from his seat by the fire. He knew she was in the hallway just beyond the parlor and would come when he summoned her. “Bring me the brandy,” he said flatly, looking into the fire as soon as she entered.

Demelza returned shortly, poured him some brandy in a glass, then set the bottle next to him. She went to the fire which still absorbed his attention and stirred it with the poker to wake it and warm the room. She lit another candle in the sconce then moved to leave him alone.

“It’s different here without Claude, is it not?” he asked before she reached the door. She was startled that he had addressed her.

“Well yes, sir. Though ‘tis it not strange? T’was only yesterday Mister Claude left us. And ‘e be gone in town most days when ‘e was here, yet knowin’ ‘e won’t be back for many month do make it seem empty now?”

“Demelza? Sit, won’t you? You have been working all day. Are you not weary?” he asked looking into his glass.

“No sir. I’m not tired at all, ‘tis just evening and I’ve much to do yet ‘fore I sleep. “

“Warm yourself first. It is cold night.” It was meant as a kind gesture but it came out sounding like an order.

“Thank you, sir.” She sat on the bench next to the fire but at once a window shutter flapped in the wind and she jumped up to go fasten it tight. She came back and tentatively resumed her perch near the fire as though she was not sure the invitation still stood.

“Are you content, Demelza? At Nampara?” he asked her suddenly without shifting his gaze to look at her at all. She nearly leapt from her seat again; she wasn't sure at first if he was speaking to her at all, or to the room at large. She slowly looked at him to try to gauge his mood. His face remained inscrutable but did not seem agitated.

“Yes, sir. I am, sir,” she said in response. 

“I’m very glad to hear that Demelza,” he smiled faintly into his glass, which was already nearly drained. She suddenly felt emboldened and steeled herself to ask the question that had burned in her breast the last few days. 

“Sir, can I ask thee...when Prudie and I were attendin’ to Mister Claude’s packin’...” She took a deep breath. What was she stirring up? She knew it was better left alone but felt she had to know the truth. “Well, Prudie told me I wasn’t to be alone in ‘is chamber. And that was a change and so I was wonderin’, sir, ...why that might be?” She stopped but he didn’t move his gaze from the flames. She swallowed and went on. “Did you, sir...did you think I might be... thievin’ from Mister Claude?” 

Once the words were out of her mouth she heard how wicked they had sounded. It was so very insolent for her to question her master’s motives or his orders. Her resolve slipped at once into regret and she felt the hot sting of tears form in her eyes, ones she quickly brushed aside with the back of her hand before he detected them. 

“No, I did not,” he said, snapping his head towards her as though seeing her for the first time that evening. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pull her into focus. They burned dark and intense but Demelza could see at once, surprisingly, he wasn’t angry with her. She exhaled softly. What ever was troubling him, she was not the cause. He held her gaze for a moment then returned his eyes to the flames before him. 

“Prudie is mistaken. You can move about the house as you see fit,” he said quietly.

 

*****  
A few days after Claude Poldark had left Nampara for what was to be almost twelve months, Ross sat down at his desk after hours in the mine; his head sank into his hands at once. It was his evening ritual lately to close himself behind the massive oak door and steep himself in wine and frustration as he reviewed the dim prospects of his venture. He noticed a new clean glass had been placed for him next to a sparkling decanter of brandy. But there on the floor, the broken glass from the previous week, now covered in a light dust, still remained. He was suddenly most troubled by the shattered glass, as though what he had broken had been something far more delicate and precious than he had realised. 

_Why hadn’t Demelza removed it? Good God, is she afraid of me now?_ But that couldn’t be right, surely she wasn’t afraid of him. In the days that had passed since he had shouted at her, she had gone about her chores as usual and didn’t seem to avoid him. Only the night before he had observed her humming lightly as she placed his supper in front of him. _No, it is something else. She has left the mess behind deliberately to remind me of my mistreatment of her, to rub my nose in my failings. This is her defiance._ Then he caught himself. _Must I be at war with everyone?_

He found an old piece of parchment after fumbling in his drawer for a moment and bent to slide it carefully under the glass shards. He then took his handkerchief and rubbed the now dried spot to remove as much of the wine stain as he could. 

One thing was for certain. It wouldn't do to shout at Demelza as though she were a wayward ox, he thought. He saw one last crystal sliver lying near the carpet and tried to gingerly pluck it up but sliced the pad of his finger all the same. _Damnit! Why is this whole accursed affair still plaguing me so?_

“Sir! You’re bleedin’!” Demelza called in surprise when Ross stepped into the kitchen holding the broken glass folded in parchment. “Let me help ‘ee, sir.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Truly, I’m fine,” he added with a deliberate steadiness, as near to warmth as he could muster in his exhausted state. He scanned the room for Prudie or Jud and was disappointed but not surprised they were nowhere to be seen. “Here, please clear this away.” He carefully handed over the package hoping she could manage without cutting herself; he hadn't intended to ask her to dispose of it but it was clear he needed to attend to his own wound. “Have a care,” he added. “It’s sharp.” He gave her a weak smile, then turned and left her alone.

Demelza moved quickly through the back door in search of the bucket that household refuse was kept in before it was buried it in the rubbish pit at the far end of their land. As she went to place the bundle into the bucket, two things caught her eye. The first was Ross’s blood spattered across the yellowed parchment. She was fascinated with how the drops had soaked through the crumpled sheet and spread in deeply saturated circles; she put her finger to it and found it was still wet enough to smear. She regretted she had disturbed the splatter but instinctively put her finger to her mouth to taste it. She knew the taste of her own blood and was intrigued to see that he, so different from her, had blood running through him just like hers. It was salty but also a bit like the iron-rich soil she was used to working. She hoped he had indeed managed to bandage his wound by himself.

The second thing she noticed was the parchment itself; it was an old letter. Carefully she shook the bigger shards into an old greasy rag that was in the pail and brushed away the sparkling dust the broken glass had left behind on the sheet. She smoothed it as best she could to better exam the letters. Even though the parchment was old and yellowed and long ago discarded, the letters were still gleaming black, artfully formed with careful precision. She had never seen any script nearly so lovely and stared in admiration. She wondered how long it had taken a body to learn to write so beautifully. Years no doubt, but how many? While Demelza had been slowly making some headway learning to recognise letters over the past year, these she couldn't quite make out. She could, however, discern the first two words: Dear Ross.

She exhaled and looked around her. She was relieved to see no one had seen her holding the letter, still she trembled with nerves. Certainly reading an old, discarded scrap of rubbish wasn’t wrong for her to do. Was it? But of course it was, a servant reading her master’s correspondence! She ran her finger over the words again: Dear Ross. Someone had addressed him with the love and admiration she knew she held for him but dared not acknowledge. She wondered who had written it and she immediately thought it must have been Elizabeth. But would he have discarded a note from her? She doubted he would. Demelza knew what she was doing was wrong but took the letter, refolded it, and slipped it into her bodice. 

Later when she was alone, she slid it under her mattress where she was certain it couldn’t be found. She told herself she was keeping it to further her learning of her letters but when she took it out on occasion, she spent more time looking at the then-browned blood that had spotted the rumpled note, than the beautiful script.

It would be some time before Demelza had grown skilled enough in her reading to see the letter had been from Ross’s banker, Pascoe, informing him that another shareholder in Wheal Leisure was inquiring about selling shares in the thus far profitless mine.


	14. Chapter 14

Ross sat alone, looking into the parlor fire, troubled by his thoughts. He had been on edge since Jinny and Jim’s wedding and his recent visit to Trenwith for Geoffrey Charles’s christening had not helped his mood at all. 

He had wished Claude were still in Cornwall even though the brothers decidedly had not been on the best of terms when Claude had left for Cambridge. But perhaps together they, the Nampara Poldarks, could be a united front to the rest of the world, instead of just Ross, the lone rogue fighting against the niceties of society. He certainly wasn't opposed to the customs of his class, they just had little to do with his day to day life as he struggled to turn Wheal Leisure into a profitable venture. He rose early each day, worked alongside his men whenever he could, then came home late, exhausted and covered in dust. When he chose not to go to the mine he saw to the field work at Nampara, assisting Jim, his farmhand who still struggled with his breathing most days. So when it was time again for him to put on his velvet coat and enter his uncle’s drawing room, it took him a moment to recall what fancies occupied the gentry of the neighborhood and the how they interacted with one another. 

If Claude were there would those ladies have dared to utter the gossip Ross had overheard? Would Claude have acted as a bridge between polite society and Ross’s rougher world? Or would the gossip have been twice as vicious? Such talk did not hurt Ross for again he felt indifferent to these unfounded judgements, but he was disturbed that it so wronged Demelza. She, who never hurt another soul, did not deserve to be the subject of such foul speculation. Ross was coming to regard Demelza as more than a servant but as a sort of friend. He admitted his views of the young girl had changed over the last months and as a result, his sense of duty towards her had grown more complex as well. He was determined she must never know what was said.

The visit to Trenwith for the christening had not ended well for Ross; he had left in haste and in anger, and had not returned to his uncle’s house since. It wasn’t just the cruel words he had heard spoken about him and Demelza that had upset him. The birth of Geoffrey Charles had had an unpleasant effect on Ross, as though it somehow now marked Francis and Elizabeth’s union as official in a way he could no longer pretend to ignore. This new child, Jinny and Jim’s wedding, and now his uncle’s ill health, all reminded him that even if he hid forty fathoms below the earth each day, life moved on around him. And would continue to do so whether he paid attention or not. 

Recently, the more he felt disconnected from his family and the wider circle of their gentry acquaintances, Ross found himself content to be in his own home. Meals at Nampara were certainly a much more pleasant affair since Demelza had taken over all the cooking. The change was noticeable at once; the food she served was flavorful and presented at table with care. Ross found he wanted to linger at each meal and savor it rather than wolf it down quickly out of necessity, as had been the case when Prudie was cook. And he much prefered Demelza’s cooking to the soulless spread of supposed delicacies that had been on offer at Trenwith. He also preferred the company he found at home as well.

On occasion Ross invited Demelza to join him so he didn't eat alone and also to make certain she did eat too. Ross wondered at times if he was seeking the companionship of a sibling that he was missing since Claude had left. He and Demelza mostly discussed work that had been completed that day or would need to be done the next. He marveled at her industry and also at her patience the other servants. She knew Jim had his limitations and she worried after his health. And she had long ago accepted Jud’s and Prudie’s idleness and instead did what she could to keep the place going. 

Ross had also begun to take Demelza on errands to town and while there, had entrusted her to make purchases for the household on her own. Without giving it much thought he had grown to trust her judgement and found her capable of managing more and more of the care of Nampara. She had taken on a sort of leadership well beyond her years. Nampara was her home after all, and she maintained it as best she could with a discernible pride

Weeks before, Ross and Demelza had attended Jinny and Jim’s wedding together and he had been thankful for her companionship there as well. He always felt comfortable with the folks of Sawle and Mellin but he didn't want them to hold back in their celebrating on account of his presence; Demelza had acted as a bridge of sorts. He also felt as though she needed a break from the drudgery of her daily work and was heartened to see how quickly she joined in the celebratory mood of the event. Without prompting she drank, ate, and laughed with the rest of the guests. Demelza seemed to believe that one must take pleasure where and when one found it and there was never cause nor time for brooding. I could learn something from this girl, he thought.

It was when she had joined in the dancing that Ross began to grow uneasy. Though not at all graceful, she did move with true spirit and joy. She would, from time to time throw her head back in laughter if the dance grew too fast, and more than once she caught him watching her and smiled back at him. Her cheeks flushed but her energy never wavered. 

A young village man Ross did not know joined the circle and wrapped his arms around Demelza’s shoulders as the group moved together to the sound of the pipers. As he watched this man--or was he just a boy?-- grasp Demelza with his rough, strong hands, Ross felt an unsettling shock move through his body, shattering his content mood. Demelza placed her hand lightly on the man’s shoulders giving him only the quickest glance before she continued in her merry hopping and swaying. 

Ross hadn't realised he had stepped forward towards the dancers’ circle until he felt another hand clap his own shoulder, inviting him to partake in the merriment as well. At first he shook his head to decline. He did not want to make anyone here feel ill at ease by his company but then saw that they were not viewing him as gentleman landlord but as friend. At this he felt he could not refuse. He put down his own cup, hoping his ankle would not object to such a lively dance. Afterwards, he wondered if he had joined the dancing to prevent any young men from getting too friendly with Demelza, and to remind the young man to her right or any other potential suitors, that he, Ross Poldark, was responsible for her and they would need to contend with him should they have any further intentions. Or had he merely stepped into the circle to share in Demelza’s joy, to abandon all worry, as she seemed to have done? 

That had been weeks ago. Now he recognised it was his own cowardice that had caused him to delay speaking with Demelza since then about his concerns. It was no longer anything he could put off. It was his duty to resolve her future as his servant, and as a woman.

****  
“You be wantin’ to speak to me, Captain, sir?” Demelza asked brightly as she entered the library. Her natural manner moving about the house was quick and efficient, somewhere between a glide and a whirl. In contrast, Ross sat at his desk, stiff and anxious, his face rested in his hands. The last time he had asked a member of the household into this very room to discuss his concerns for Demelza’s future, it had not been well received. In fact he had not heard from his brother since he left for Cambridge, other than a quick note letting Ross know he’d arrived and where his post should be directed. Ross swallowed hard and hoped this time he could get his point across concisely without any misunderstanding or ill will.

“Yes, Demelza, sit, please,” he said rather formally. He rose from his desk and walked towards the chair on which she had awkwardly perched. He suddenly became aware that he towered over her as she sat so he took a few steps back. Finally, he moved towards the fire and took the poker in his hands. He saw he was stalling. 

“I want to discuss your future,” he said quickly without turning to her.

“Future? You mean here, sir?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, at Nampara...or elsewhere should that be the...” he replied, trying to remain measured in his words.

“Sir! I told you. This is my home. I belong here,” she said breathlessly. He had not expected she would interrupt him and he had certainly not anticipated she would become excited so quickly. He continued, this time trying to take on a more commanding tone to counter her growing objections.

“And as I told you before, your work is more than satisfactory. But...” he went on as though schooling a pupil. “I want you, as you grow, to remain content. And there will come a time that you will, most likely want to marry.” 

“Sir!” she exclaimed. 

“And when that time comes I want to be of service to you and your intended. Should Jud and Prudie move on, one could make a case for another caretaker couple to live in. But you’ll surely have children so you may find that arrangement doesn’t suit you. A cottage at Mellin might be made available for you and your future husband,” he went on. He still hadn’t looked at her so he didn’t see her mouth drop open in amazement.

“Marry, sir? I? I be but a girl! I have no notions of marryin’,” she said dismissively. He may as well have suggested she would be joining the circus.

“But you may in future and you should. It is the proper aspiration for a…” he turned towards her and resumed his lecturing tone.

“Captain, sir?” She searched his face for the subtle signs of warmth she had come to recognise and seeing none became alarmed. What had changed? She wondered if this was a veiled accusation that she had been acting improperly when about town or in the village. Her bewilderment quickly slid into defensiveness. “I don’ ‘ave no suitors. I know no boys or men or...sir!”

“And...some day...” at this Ross paused. He hoped some day would indeed be off in a distant future. “If you would like some assistance finding a husband, we could certainly look for a suitable match for you among the…”

This was too much. Tears splashed down Demelza’s face. She felt awash in humiliation and embarrassment. She couldn't flee from the room, which would have been her first instinct. She knew she had to stay and hear out Ross, her master, whose words made no sense to her at all. 

It was as though her world had come crashing down around her. She didn’t normally trouble herself thinking about the future and what ifs. She was happy day to day and found it useless to speculate about what might be. If she were honest, she did think that maybe someday she’d be a mother and she did hope she’d know what it meant to have the love or at least companionship of a good man. But these hopes were just vague impressions, not really fully formed ideas, and she had no expectations she’d find these things any time soon nor that she should be seeking them out. 

But Ross was also suggesting she should be worrying about something else, something more dangerous. She knew what happened between a husband and a wife when they lay together and how it was natural for them to find pleasure when they did. The closest she ever had to those feelings were chance occasions when she thought about Ross. She knew it was wrong, and again these feelings were vague, never fully formed ideas; in truth she had not really acknowledged them to herself until this moment. And what Ross was telling her now made her feel shame. Such ideas must be quite wicked indeed for an unmarried girl. Furthermore he had just made it clear he would never think of her in that way, something she’d never had to face before. She hated him for making her feel so exposed.

“You do be wantin’ rid of me,” she accused. Now she was not only hurt but angry.

“Now, now Demelza. None of that. Compose yourself,” he said fighting to maintain his masterly self-possession. He saw the tears stream down her face, something he wasn't sure he had ever seen from her before even when she’d had cause. He had seen her abused in a dogfight, injured in the course of her duties at Nampara, and insulted regularly by the Paynters but she had never revealed when she was hurt. His resolve slipped at once and he tried to insert some compassion into his next words. 

“Demelza,” he said gently. “It’s because I don’t want to be rid of you that we must speak of this.” He wished he could take her hand in his to show the care he had intended but had failed miserably to demonstrate. “I want to forge a way that you may stay on at Nampara as you grow in your life and become someone’s wife.”

“Is this all yer doin’, Captain Ross? Or did Mister Claude also...” She hadn’t meant to provoke him by mentioning Claude. She wondered whether they shared this plan before he left or if it was somehow the result of the quarrel the brothers had had some months ago. 

Now it was Ross’s turn to grow angry. At this mention of his brother’s name his eyes grew dark and the smile disappeared. He firmly grasped the poker he was still holding and set his jaw tight before he spoke again. He turned to face her.

“Demelza! I am Master of Nampara, not my brother. Do not ever forget that. It was I that engaged you. You are my servant and as such, take orders only from me. And your place is where I say it is. Is that clear?!” His voice was loud and had some of the same sharpness she’d heard him use previously with Jud and Prudie. 

Demelza saw the fury in his eyes and bravely returned his gaze. She was not afraid of this Ross. His temper was something she had come to accept and after the incident with the broken glass in the library, she had even come to recognise when he was angry with her or troubled by something else. She perceived now that his outburst again had more to do with Claude than with her. She did not care why. She resolved she would no longer allow Ross to be privy to her feelings. She wiped her tears with her sleeve and took a deep breath. She looked at him with a sudden calm that she could tell alarmed him and then spoke. 

“Yes, Captain Ross,” she said simply looking him in the eye. Then without waiting to be excused from the room, rose from her chair. “Thank you for your concern, sir,” she said dryly. She gave an awkward curtsy and exited before he could say another word.


	15. Chapter 15

“Demelza, I’m off to Truro. I’d take you along but I fear I’ll be overnight this time,” Ross said over his shoulder as he slipped some rolled up documents into his saddle bag. “I must appeal for more capital if we are to begin blasting at Wheal Leisure,” he added under his breath, clearly annoyed at the prospect of meeting with the shareholders again so soon. He wondered for a moment whether his decision to go alone and stay over at the Red Lion was in any way driven by the gossip he had overheard about him and Demelza. As much as it irked him to acknowledge, it might be best if they were not seen together in public, at least until the cruel speculation about them had subsided.

Demelza, who had been sweeping the kitchen floor when Ross entered, stopped and looked up at him for a moment. _This was new._ He did not normally inform her of his plans or provide her with the timetable of how long he’d be from home. In the past Ross might mention something to Jud but mostly as a warning to the the shiftless servant so he would know to be sober upon his master’s return. She felt a surge of pride that his confidence in her continued to grow but felt this recent show of attentiveness mostly meant Ross missed his brother’s company.

Demelza hadn’t expected Ross to invite her every time he journeyed from home so she was not disappointed as she watched him ride off alone. She had planned to work in the fields that day once she finished in the kitchen. The spring was proving to be delightful and every day she found new flowers to gather and new nests tucked in the tall grass. She hated the idea of having to clear them away but thought if she did it herself she might be more gentle than Jim or Jud would be. 

She had just stepped outside when she felt a soft rain starting. It was an early spring rain, nothing bracing, one that made the new greens and golds of the fields glow with brilliance. Even the mud in the yard and the dug up garden now glistened with promise, betraying none of the previous autumn's despair. Demelza had a mind to venture out to pluck the earthworms from puddles before they drowned or go shake the raindrops from the new growth before blossoms became weighted down or wet buds rotted without ever opening. Or perhaps she would just rest in the barn, waiting for the rain to pass. 

After a moment’s consideration she instead returned to the house to resume her cleaning duties. She thought she’d make the most of a morning indoors and began in her favorite room. She pushed open the library door eagerly.

She hadn't yet a chance to clear away the dishes from the previous night; Ross had stayed up late working long after she’d gone to bed. Now she surveyed the room and was pleased that other than the cluttered desk, things appeared in good order. But then she spied something under the desk. It looked like a letter that had been wadded up and discarded in agitation. She moved to pick it up from the floor, not intending to read its content, but her eye was drawn to it nonetheless.

“ _Give Demelza my best, unless you’ve other plans for her._ ”

At first she recognised only the letter ‘D’ but then shortly the others came into focus and she realised she was not in fact imagining it. It was indeed her name, _Demelza_ , written out in the beautifully formed black script. She knew this hand: it was Mister Claude Poldark’s. She found it much neater and more controlled than Ross’s writing yet it wasn’t as mesmerizingly lovely as the script on the letter she had pulled from the rubbish some months before.

Her blood ran cold. What were the brothers saying about her in their correspondence? Was Ross in fact moving ahead with his plan to get rid of her despite his retractions the other night? Whatever the rest of the note said it must have distressed her master much since he had crumpled it and thrown it to the floor. 

Should she put it back under the desk? No, after she’d left that broken glass for days on end she’d learned her lesson. To leave it might make him think she was derelict in her duties, not cleaning the house properly, and this was not the time to have her work questioned. Should she pick it up and simply place it on the desk so he could decide for himself what to do with it next? No, it might anger him again, whatever this letter said. He did seem to want it gone. Her best move would be to take it away with the empty glass, the plate, the ashes in the fireplace. Fireplace….should she burn it? Afterall, if this letter did mention her, and she was quite certain that it did, might it not fall into the wrong hands should she dispose of it any other way?

“Demelza!” a hoarse voice called out from the kitchen and interrupted her pondering. “Where you be, girl? There’s pots to be scoured an’...” It was Prudie woken from her mid morning slumber to realise she’d no doubt be behind in her share of the household chores. Now she’d ride Demelza hard to make up for her own idleness. Without further thought, Demelza smoothed the crumpled letter, refolded it flat, and tucked it between her skin and her shift, held tight to her by her bodice. As soon as she’d get the chance she’d put it under her mattress with the other letter she’d secreted from Ross some time before.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a very warm night. The household had all gone to bed and only the one candle remained lit in the silent parlor. Demelza, alone, sat on the floor; the blue satin that pooled around her felt cool on her bare skin but was not enough to diminish the heat that coursed through her body. She remained, head in hands, trying to make sense of what had just transpired.

It was only a few hours earlier that she had entered the library for what she thought was the last time. She was certain she’d be leaving to return to her father’s and was saying goodbye to this inner sanctum of Nampara. This room was where she felt the heart of the household lay. Not just because it was where Ross attended to his business but also because it housed the ghosts of Poldarks long passed. She swept her hand over the the massive old desk and the ore samples and charts that lay upon it. She gently stroked the spinet. The room held other artifacts and curios that she had found fascinating, things from Ross’s travels in America as well as found objects from years of shipwrecks on Hendrawna Beach. 

“Good bye,” she whispered as she moved through the room. As she approached the old chest at the far end of the room she recalled how Mister Claude Poldark had months ago encouraged her to to rummage through its contents. Mister Claude had been so amused at her delight when she’d discovered the blue dress. Now she lifted the lid of the chest and lovingly fingered the old silk gown inside. 

Demelza supposed it was likely she’d never see Mister Claude again. He might not return to Cornwall for years and by then she’d be back in the overcrowded miner’s cottage in Illuggan. She couldn’t see their paths crossing in future. Then she shuddered. She was imagining the life she would be living come tomorrow. 

After meeting with her father earlier that day, she had moved through the rooms of Nampara feeling anguish at losing the life she had come to love. And since then she’d had been thinking of how returning to Illuggan would be stifle her freedom, her thoughts, and her learning. Now her body quivered, reminded of the physical deprivations it would face. Would there be enough food for Tom Carne’s still-growing family? Most likely not and no doubt she’d be considered the least important mouth to feed. Would her father really abandon the strap now that he accepted the Lord? She doubted that as well.

Quietly Demelza slipped out of her work dress and stepped into the blue satin dress one last time. She reached behind and struggled with the laces that ran up the back. She tried her best to tighten the fit of the bodice so it did not gape quite so much at the neckline. As she laid her own dress over the chest, she felt grateful for the suitable clothes she had acquired since her time at Nampara. The last time she left her father’s house she was wearing her brother’s clothes, her only frock had been cut to ribbons by her father’s cruel lash. Her fists balled as she thought of this. 

Demelza thought Mister Claude would be upset to learn she’d returned there. Would Ross tell him the news? Maybe Mister Claude would come back to Cornwall someday and need his own maid. Maybe he’d come looking for her.

She caught herself before these thoughts were even fully formed. It was nonsense. Mister Claude didn't think of her now and would forget she had ever been at Nampara if he did indeed come back. And most likely he would not return. She knew that Ross had crumpled up his letters and she suspected Claude had by now given up on his brother ever replying.

Demelza thought back to the conversation she’d had with Ross in the library earlier that spring. She had been a fool for not thinking of the future. She should have heeded his advice and asked for assistance finding a suitable husband in Sawle. She could not defy her father but a husband could. Perhaps it was not too late. 

It was then that she heard Ross’s voice call for her. She froze. Only an hour before she had wanted him home, desperate for his advice and counsel. She had even thought maybe his pride would come to her aid; years ago he’d won the fight with her father after all and she hadn’t yet served him the two years as had been the arrangement. But since then she’d come around to the conclusion that he’d make her go, that she was not so important to him as he was to her. Now she regretted he had returned home at all.

He called again and this time she detected an urgency in his tone. She looked down at the blue dress she was wearing and for the first since coming to Nampara she dreaded seeing Ross.

Ross was sitting alone in the near dark, his head hung in frustration and despair. He spoke his orders to her briskly without moving his gaze from the parlor floor. She managed to slip into the room to close the window and fetch him the rum bottle without leaving the shadows. She crept on tiptoe hoping to prevent the dress from rustling too loudly and had almost left the room when he turned. 

“Demelza, what are you wearing?” he asked suddenly. 

She turned slowly and knew she had to face him. Whatever explanation she could offer him while he was in this dark mood had better be gotten through quickly. She swallowed hard.

“I found it, sir, in one of the old chests in the library,” she said watching his eyes as they darted up and down her shrinking figure. 

“You dare to go rifling through those things?” He looked at her in disbelief. “You are employed as a maid, and you have been a good one. And for that you are allowed certain liberties. But dressing up in fine clothes is not one of them…” Up to now he was restrained but she saw the anger growing in him.

“I meant no ‘arm, sir…” she began. She searched his face for the kindness she’d often found there; surely he’d understand if she could just explain.

“Take it off!” he snapped.

“It was just rottin’ away and I thought maybe you’d let me wear it sometimes...” she added, hoping to ease the situation. He had risen to his feet and now was facing her. She looked at him again. His eyes burned dark, his nostrils flared. She’d seen him angry plenty of times before but this was new. There was no mistaking it; his fury was now directed at her. 

“Take it off now!” he roared again.

For an instant she forgot all about her father’s words and the despair she had felt earlier in the day. She hated Ross for speaking to her so sharply and was furious with herself for thinking he might understand. Hurt and anger rose in her and she wanted to wound Ross in return. Instinctively she drew on the only weapon she had.

“Mister Claude let me wear this dress from time to time,” she said looking him in the eye. 

She knew before she spoke them that her words would not quell his rage and indeed it rose in a torrent unlike anything she’d even seen from him. He stepped towards her, his menacing frame within reach of her now, his arms were flexed. She could no longer imagine this was about the dress or about her taking liberties above her station. And this wasn't about her defying Ross by not taking off the dress. This was about Claude. In that moment her suspicions were confirmed and she knew she had indeed been the cause of the break between the brothers. 

“If you don’t take it off this minute you can pack your things and go back to your father!” he growled. Spit glistened on his lips, parted just enough for her to see his snarling teeth. 

She had sworn she’d never again let Ross see her cry but the tears escaped on their own. She was overcome with shame, dread, and utter resignation. Once again her love for him, love that she had tried to deny and bury, was exposed. And once again it had been shattered by his cruel words. He had just told her she wasn’t good enough for that dress or any fine things. He wouldn’t fight to keep her and he didn’t care what perils waited for her outside of Nampara. She staggered backwards clutching her belly; the pain was too much.

She didn’t see his face change at the sight of her tears. He’d only seen her cry once before and now like then, he was out of his depth. He was startled, then ashamed at the strength of his own outburst. He at once tried to regain control of himself and resume his most masterly and kind, but distant, ways. 

“There, there,” he said clumsily, “Enough of this.” He spoke impatiently wanting to order the situation quickly. 

He stepped towards her again and reached to stroke her cheek, a benevolent gesture of comfort. She recognised his changed tone but was unsure what it meant. She turned her wet, streaked face and looked up at him cautiously. She didn’t know a single tear escaped her lash and splashed him as he was holding her face in his hand. The cool drop on his hot skin was too much for him; again control was lost.

He pulled her towards him and kissed her. The surprise overwhelmed her and she almost lost her balance as her feet were no longer quite flat on the floor. She joined him, returning the kiss. His lips on hers opened a floodgate of emotion, feelings that had long been developing in her as she had grown into womanhood. She was carried away in the rush but in the same moment he slammed the gate shut.

“I didn’t take you from your father’s house for this,” he sputtered and staggered back from her as though he had been drinking strong liquor. “Go to bed. Go to bed now,” he ordered and walked out of the room without looking back.

Now she sat alone on the floor. She grew aware of the stiff silk rubbing uncomfortably against her hard nipples and put her hands to her own sweaty skin at the gaping neckline. The world she knew had been shattered. 

In the moment that had passed between her and Ross, they were man and woman, not master and servant, not gentleman and urchin from the gutter. These sensations new to her body but as old as humankind, were too much for her and she knew she could not leave this house without them suffocating her. If she’d never known this feeling maybe, just maybe, she would have been able to survive outside of Nampara, but no longer. Now she knew. She abandoned all care and let her urges drive her. She stood and blew out the candle.

When she entered Ross’s room she was neither meek nor subservient. She did not come to comfort him in his sorrow or to calm his anger. She came so that he could attend to her needs. She came to him because she could not do otherwise.

“The dress, it unfastens at the back,” she said softly but calmly. She turned with quiet determination to offer him the back of the gown. Within a moment she felt his warmth as he stood behind her. He said nothing, his strong hands tried their best to gingerly unlace the delicate ribbon that held the dress together. 

She felt his breathe on her neck and knew he was near. His hand slipped around her cool waist in the open gown and she leaned back to find his lips on her neck. There was only moving forward.


	17. Chapter 17

_He had offered her protection_. 

The day Ross first plucked Demelza from the dogfight in Redruth, and not long after when he’d fought her father with his fists, he had offered her a position in his home to protect her from starvation and physical harm. Lately he believed he had been protecting her from the questionable desires of local village men and even from his own brother. Is that what he thought he had been doing when she laid beneath him in his bed? Offering her protection? 

Yes, he had made half hearted attempts to hold on to reason and even imagined he was proceeding with some caution the night before. After he had impulsively kissed her in the parlor, he had tried to regain control and ordered her off to her own bed. It was she after all who had then sought him in his bedchamber and offered herself to him without his prompting. Before he pressed his lips to her neck, he had found the strength to pause and had asked her to consider what would happen if they gave in to this longing. 

But those initial moments of hesitation and consideration were not enough. Could he still claim to be her protector, after delighting in her over and over throughout the night, passing his broad hands over the entirety of her young body, seizing her firm flesh and pulling her ever towards him, tasting her breasts and stroking her womanhood? Just what was he offering her in his bed? Had he not just placed her in more danger than ever? Certainly he had further exposed her to the sharp tongues of gossip that lay in wait, a potent danger he had not yet been able to neutralize.

And what had she offered him? His head swam as he recalled her under him, breathing his name in his ear, her fingers laced through his hair, pulling him ever towards her. He would somehow have to make sense of what had happened, _he had done_ but that would never happen if he thought of her in his bed. He had to push the thoughts away. 

****  
Later that afternoon, after Elizabeth had called unexpectedly and then had left abruptly, Ross went back to the barn. He tried to bury his mounting frustration behind the never ending list of farming tasks to be done but he soon found there was nothing he could do to escape his own thoughts. 

“Demelza?” he called out to her hoping she’d be within earshot working in the yard. She did not answer and it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen her all day. Was she avoiding him? What must she be thinking?

Ross entered the kitchen still frustrated and now overheated. But he was resolved, he would find Demelza and speak to her, to again pledge his protection, to promise he’d never again take her to his bed, that she need not fear him nor his advances. For the time being he believed it himself, that he would be able to restrain himself around her and that they could, that the Nampara household could, return to normal. But even if he could control his desires, what had he done for her future? Had he not damaged her prospects by taking her first? What could he do to help when the time came for her to marry some future bridegroom? What could he, Ross Poldark, offer then?

“Where’s Demelza?” he asked Jud half asleep at the table. The servant lifted his head slightly, a mug now-empty of ale in his hand, and snapped to with the limited attention he could muster before replying to his master.

“Las’ I saw she was headed towards Sawle with that blathering dog at her heels,” he said. He did not dare mutter “Good riddance” but implied Demelza’s departure solved a problem that had long plagued the household. What did he know? Had this hapless servant seen the desire Demelza had aroused in both Claude and Ross? Had he noticed the friendship growing between Demelza and Ross, the mounting tension? Did Jud and Prudie know or surmise what had transpired last night between Demelza and their master in his bedchamber? Ross took one long look into the glassy-eyed servant who clearly longed to be resting his bobbling head against the tabletop again but was using all his strength to keep it upright. No, Jud knew nothing and was only speaking from a well-worn dislike of the young girl formed years ago when she first came to Nampara as an outsider and who since had kept them on their toes. Had Jud but a modicum of sense he would have realised that the loss of yet another servant in less than two days would mean still more work for him.

“Sawle?” Ross repeated questioningly. 

“No doubt returning to ‘er father’s ‘ouse after all. Yee do know, Capt’n sir, he came to fetch her ‘ome yesterday. Gave ‘er a day to make it right with you. Don’t seem like she did that tho, did she, slinkin’ off like this?” Now it was Prudie’s turn to address her master, not realising how her own fortunes would turn if this news were indeed true.

“To her father’s?” he asked slowly in disbelief, then snapped. “But he’d certainly mistreat her!” Ross turned towards the door at once. He took long strides across the yard and mounted his horse without hesitation. These early summer days were long; still he hoped he could catch up with her on the road before dark.

***  
The ride was not pleasant. He felt discomfort in the saddle; after last night’s amorous activities he was raw in his breeches. He also felt a palpable fear that he might not be able to convince her to return. Perhaps she now saw he offered no real protection but in fact the very opposite. Claude had been right--the dangerous wolf, ferocious in its appetite and desire, waiting to pounce had been dwelling all this time right within his very own walls. 

 

Yet desire’s dark shadow had been eclipsing something else worth seeking that was now revealed to Ross-- the solace he had found with her. In those hours they spent together she offered him a way out of the chasm that he had sunk into years before, that he had convinced himself he now inhabited without question. Her fingertips, while at once raking his skin and fueling his passion, also offered tenderness, companionship, and much needed comfort. The warmth she gave was not just from her soft, flushed skin. He had been focusing on how his body had yearned for release but there was something else she had released in him. His loneliness was cast away and his hunger for connection had been fed.

Did he dare to hope he could have offered her the same? He knew he had given her pleasure, and taught her of new pleasures that were to be had between a man and a woman. But had he too offered her comfort and the possibilities of human connection? She, who had been abandoned and alone for so many years, who sought her comforts in the small wonders around her-- animals who responded to her affectionate care, the flowers and beauty that nature had to offer, the neatness and warmth of their shared home. Had he given her more in his bedchamber? Could he give her more? He must, he simply must.

**  
She looked weary, unlike her usual dancing self, but it was afterall a hot day, and she wore her traveling cloak and carried what appeared to be a heavy bundle. She hadn’t heard him until he was close behind and only then did she turn. When she looked up at him her eyes were suddenly the same lamps that had shone in his dark bedchamber, bright and searching, offering him warmth. Instantly the longing that he swore to himself he'd be able to control returned. He felt the uncomfortable stirring in his breeches in again as he saw her skin glistening with dewy perspiration and watched her breast rise and fall heavily, winded after her long march from Nampara. Her lips were red and raw from thirst and when she licked them, he felt he needed to kiss her right then, to hold her to him close enough to smell her scent, to taste her skin, to join her body to his. Instead he slowed his horse and stepped closer to her. 

“I engaged you for two years. What do you mean by running away? Haven’t you gotten used to the house, your tasks, and my moods? Do you not give me what I want before I even ask for it?” When he spoke he instantly became aware of his tone; it was richer, warmer, more gentle and more sincere than he’d ever used with her before. _So it must be._

“Sir, I...” she began. “I thought….after what happened…”

“You thought you could not longer be my servant?” he continued for her. He nodded his understanding.

“Not by choice, sir,” she said solemnly, looking up at him, meeting his gaze and holding it, piercing his eyes with her own. When she faced him it was clear to him how things had changed. In that moment, they met as man and a woman, not master and servant. He continued with resolve.

“You are right,” he nodded. “You can no longer be my servant,” he said soberly 

He dismounted quickly and stepped closer to take her hand in his; she didn't quite pull away but stiffened. He saw that she was afraid but when he looked back into her eyes he saw she wasn't afraid of him but of herself, how she might react to his touch. _Good god, could she long for me too?_ He held her hand still tighter and covered it with his other.

“Demelza, You can no longer be my servant,” he repeated. “Instead ...you must become my wife.”


	18. Chapter 18

Demelza sat at the desk in the parlor doing her best with her quill to copy the verse from the volume of poetry Ross had given her. She did not have any easy time of it and had to start anew with a fresh sheet on more than one occasion. Once she remembered not to press so hard with the tip of her pen she found the letters were more legible and almost even a little graceful.

_From fairest creatures we desire increase,_  
_That thereby beauty's rose might never die,_  
_But as the riper should by time decease,_  
_His tender heir might bear his memory:_

Now that she was the wife of a gentleman, she was determined to learn her letters and be able to conduct her business in society without always relying on Ross’s assistance. For years she had so longed to open her mind to the learning found in all the books in Ross’s library and now it belonged to her as well. Ross was familiar with so many stories and poems, things he’d learned in school and took for granted; she wanted to make him proud by mastering as much as she could on her own. Afternoons while Ross was at the mine, she would spend time either writing or reading and was making steady progress. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Ross to know of her endeavours but felt she could concentrate more on her learning if no one was around. 

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It was very still in the parlor in the late afternoon. Warm sunlight streaming through the window bathed the desk and dazzled her eyes. Demelza took a deep breath and instinctively put her hand to her stomach as she did frequently these days. There was still no outward change but she imagined that would happen soon enough. Inside her though, she knew there was a shift; she felt queer most mornings and in the afternoons she found she was very sleepy. She closed her eyes for a moment then felt ashamed. She had done no tasks too arduous that day and knew she had better find some strength to begin Ross’s supper.

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She had spent that morning with Prudie and Jinny preparing the house for Claude’s upcoming visit. After over twelve months away at Cambridge, Claude Poldark was returning to Nampara to visit his brother and his brother’s new wife. When Ross had written to Demelza’s father announcing their engagement, Demelza convinced him to write to Claude as well. The first note Ross sent was brief but a lengthy reply came in return. Soon more letters were exchanged and now plans were afoot for a visit.

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For the past week in anticipation of their visitor, Demelza had anxiously been scrubbing and moving furniture. Today she and Prudie had aired out Claude’s room. When they were done she found she was quite pleased with the results. It felt different than when Claude last lived at Nampara-- warmer, more inviting. The bed linens were in better repair and though it was too late in autumn to find any flowers, today she’d placed some red and purple rowan leaves in a mug on his window sill. That was something she hadn't done before when she served as maid to the Poldark brothers. Then her duty had been to to occasionally tidy their rooms, sweep or dust as needed, attend their laundry and air their cupboards, but never did she attempt to make their chambers more cheerful for them. Demelza then flushed hot for a moment when she recalled the troubling time when Ross had asked her not to attend to Claude’s room at all. She hoped to soon forget that for good.

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For all that Demelza had done since June to make the rooms of Nampara comfortable and pleasing, the most noticeable change about the house was that Ross’s dark mood had lifted. Now Demelza worried what Claude's return might do to Ross. Last time the brothers had quarreled, she sensed correctly that she had somehow been a cause of their break. Ross never spoke of it and she hadn’t dared to ask. The letter from Claude that she had found last winter she had secretly moved to a cupboard in her new bedroom, the one she now shared with Ross. The more words she had learned to make out, the more it distressed her. Ross did not know she had seen it and although she finally resolved to burn it, the letter lay forgotten most days tucked under her shifts and linens. Ross had been so content these last months. She didn’t want a cloud to cast a shadow on their home, even if the cloud had as much right in his family's home as she did.

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She was concerned too about how she'd be received by Claude, who had once been her master. Would he sneer at the arrangement or come to accept it in time, as had the other residents of Nampara. There was another matter too that niggled at the back of her mind. She had been aware of the way Claude looked at her from time to time that made her feel ill at ease. But just what had he been doing? Was he being friendly or was it more than that? He was acknowledging she was a woman and the looks he had given her reminded her he was a man. She supposed most men looked at their servants that way, and like Claude, they looked but never acted upon their desires. Perhaps it was understood that was what a gentleman might do from time to time. She should have asked Verity about that when she saw her last. Would she know? But then Ross had never looked at her like that, had he? No, before they ever became intimate and were still master and servant, they had developed a sort of companionship, cordial and light. And whenever Ross looked at her it was because he was seeing her as a person, as a friend, not as a woman. Or had he? Could she had been too blinded by her own love and admiration for him that she didn’t see his looks had been lustful as well? 

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Surely Claude wouldn't dare to look at her that way now that she was Mistress of Nampara and married to his older brother. Would he? The idea that he might, grieved her deeply and she felt that it would offer much insult not just to her but to her husband. 

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She sat at the desk and she thought more about what was to come in the next few days. She didn't hear Ross enter the room until he spoke.

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****  
Ross entered the parlor and saw his wife sitting at the desk in deep contemplation looking toward the light that spilled through the window. _How lovely she is._ He wondered what it was she was pondering that had her so thoroughly absorbed. She rested her chin in her hand and looked tired, which he found unusual for her.

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“My dear, I have a letter from Claude,” he said moving towards her to cross the room. She turned and rose slightly in her seat but he motioned for her to stay and came to rest a kiss on her forehead in salute. “He has arrived by coach in Truro this very day and will join us at Nampara tomorrow by noon.”

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She looked up into Ross’s dark eyes. “Oh,” she said simply. She meant to communicate her assent but it came out flat and uncertain. She smiled weakly then tried again. “T’will be a pleasure for you to have the Poldark family together under Nampara roof, will it not then, Ross?”

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Ross looked down at his young wife Something was troubling her. Was it just the anxiety of expecting a visitor as she had expressed before Verity came to stay? That had ended so well with a genuine affection developing quickly between the two women and continuing on after the visit. And Claude was no stranger, she’d known him for years. _Yes, but not as Mistress of Nampara, you fool_. Of course this would be the next big hurdle she must face as Mrs. Ross Poldark.

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He bent to kiss her lips and rested his hand on her neck, rubbing it gently, to offer what reassurance he could. He knew he had his own trepidations about seeing his younger brother again and sympathized with Demelza. She had been so happy these last few months; her already warm and generous ways had only blossomed further in the months they'd shared together. He must only hope Claude's presence wouldn't upset her happiness. 

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“What are you working at, my dear?” he asked curiously, peering down at the writing in front of Demelza.

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“Ross!” she chided, gathering her sheets of parchment to her in a stack. “Tisn’t for your eyes.”

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“Mine eyes? Is it a letter to a lover then?” he questioned playfully.

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Demelza looked down at the line she had been copying before Ross had interrupted her: _Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament_. She smiled, satisfied with her work.

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“I suppose it is,” she said coyly.

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***  
That night in their bed, Ross noticed Demelza had seemed to pull away from him. As she had laid to rest, she edged further on her side of the bed and then rolled facing away from him. This was unlike her yet she did not seem cross, just distant. This aroused more need than usual in him. He responded by moving himself closer, wrapping his broad arms around her and pulling her to him. 

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Yes, this visit was also Ross’s opportunity to demonstrate to his brother that Demelza was now his. The last words Claude had spoken to him accused Ross of hiding his own desirous thoughts about her and Ross had responded with indignant anger. Ross had to admit that perhaps Claude was indeed more insightful than he had given him credit for at the time. 

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Since their first night together, Ross’s desire for Demelza had only grown to previously unexplored depths. But it was more than that now. It wasn't just about what happened between him and Demelza in the bedchamber, theirs was a much stronger connection than just two joined by passion. He would need to make Claude understand that. He had to assume Claude would respect his marital claim and not speak as loosely about Demelza as he had while he was last at home or as he had in his earlier letters. 

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_She’s mine_ , he repeated to himself.

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As Ross gripped her close to him, Demelza let out a gasp then laughed. “Ross, dear,” she hissed gently. “You’re worse than a tightly laced pair of stays! I can scarce breathe.” He loosened his brace, kissing the top of her head, and let her settle against his chest. He felt her breathing rise and fall in sync with his own. 

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***

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Demelza was in the kitchen having just pulled her last loaves out of the oven. Although she had Jinny to serve her now, Demelza still preferred to do most of the baking herself. Today she felt she could not leave it to chance or Jinny’s less skilled hands; she wanted everything to be just right. Ross had gone to meet Claude at the crossroad from Truro and she had anxiously paced the kitchen while awaiting their return. She was startled when Garrick barked and she threw up her hands, nearly upsetting the fresh bread. 

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She heard Ross’s voice alone in the hallway and breathed deeply, comforted by his rich, warm tones. Claude must have gone on to the stables to see to the horses. She wondered what horse he would be riding since he had sold Phaedra last year before leaving Cornwall. She twisted her hands in her skirts and walked in the hallway to meet Ross.

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The tall figure in the long moleskin coat stood with his back to her, holding his brown tricorn in his hand. At the sound of her footsteps behind him, he turned and smiled at her, his eyes brimming with love and admiration.

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It was Claude, not Ross, standing before Demelza in the hallway. She blushed at once at her mistake and recalled how similar the brothers sounded, how their stance and gait so resembled one another's. She fumbled for words. _Why had I not practiced what I would say to him instead of fussing about the loaves in the oven?_ she lamented now. She smiled politely at him and began to curtsy when he stepped forward. He seized her hand in his, squeezing it with enthusiastic affection.

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“Sister!” he said tenderly. He raised her hand to her lips and she smiled again, this time with less hesitation.

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“Claude,” she said. “We’re that glad you’ve returned.”

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Ross entered the house just as Claude and Demelza had greeted one another. He sensed at once that whatever apprehensions Demelza might have had about Claude’s visit, they seemed to have dissolved in a single moment. Claude turned to Ross, still holding Demelza’s hand in his own gloved hand. 

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Ross looked again at his young wife. Her eyes were bright and the warm smile still spread upon her face was promising to turn into a hearty laugh. He was glad to see she had another friend in the house now and was surprised at himself that he felt none of the jealousy or possessiveness that had consumed him in earlier years. 

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_I was mistaken_ , he thought. _Demelza is not mine. Demelza is a Poldark._

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**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the Poldark fic writers for incredible insight and inspiration. I owe very much of my understanding of what happens within the walls of Nampara to you. I especially want to thank mmmuse's "Let it Be True" for a vision of Ross & Demelza for Chapter 17. Anything borrowed came from a place of awe and admiration!


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